James  Cooper  Wheeler 


THK    CAsK    WAS    H  TNG    H1IY     1  KK  1     A1.OK1. 

SKK  C'ti 


THERE  SHE  BLOWS! 


A   WHALING   YARN 


BY 


JAMES  COOPER  WHEELER 


Author  of  "Captain  Pete  of   Puget   Sound,"  etc. 


NEW    YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

.U   WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET 


Copyright,   1909 

BY    K.    P.    Dl'TTON    \-    Co.MI'ANY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED  TO  THOMAS  MORRISON, 
NOW  LIVING  IN  NEW  BEDFORD,  STILL  FEARLESS 
AND  LOYAL,  THO'  MANY  YEARS  OLDER  THAN 
WHEN  HE  AND  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "THERE  SHE 
BLOWS"  WERE  SHIPMATES  ON  THE  AVOLA 


TO  THE  READER 

or  sixty  years  ago  Whaling  was  a 
great  Industry,  and  hundreds  of  vessels 
manned  by  thousands  of  sea-faring  men,  as 
fearless  and  efficient  as  those  described  in  these 
pages,  pursued  Leviathan  to  the  very  bound 
aries  of  the  globe.  To-day  it  is  a  thing  of  the 
Past.  One  occasionally  hears  of  a  lonely 
whaleship  in  the  arctic  seas,  or  of  whales  being 
caught  from  stations  on  shore  and  shot  to  death 
with  cannons,  but  the  heroic  pursuit  of  the 
olden  times  is  dead. 

Whalers  were  a  breed  of  seadog  differing 
from  the  present  type  of  sailorman  as  much  as 
a  Collie  does  from  an  Upland  Scotch  stag 
hound,  and  while  I  freely  admit  the  present 
generation  to  be  in  many  ways  an  improve 
ment  on  their  predecessors  of  fifty  years  back, 
I  maintain  that  the  men  who  sailed  out  of  New 
Bedford,  Nantucket,  and  Sag  Harbor  in  the 
forties  possessed  a  toughness  of  sinew  and 
energy  of  mind  it  would  be  difficult  to  parallel 
in  the  present  era. 


To  the  Reader 

"There  She  Blows"  is,  of  course,  not  abso 
lutely  true,  but  there  is  not  an  incident  in  the 
tale  that  might  not  have  occurred  without  con 
travening  the  Law  of  Nature.  And  the  detail 
is  accurate  as  a  picture  taken  with  a  camera. 
Captain  Bourne  did  exist,  and  was  one  of  the 
best  men  that  ever  walked  a  quarter  deck.  Joe 
Stoddard  was  killed  while  attacking  a  whale 
twenty  years  ago.  The  rest  of  the  crew  of  the 
Avola,  with  the  exception  of  hearty  Tom  Mor 
rison  and  the  author,  have  every  one  passed 
away. 

A  part  of  the  story  of  Sacred  Ben  was  orig 
inally  published  in  ''The  Independent,"  and  the 
International  Whale  Chase  was  published  in 
"The  Youth's  Companion"  several  years  ago. 
My  thanks  are  hereby  tendered  to  them  for 
their  courtesy  in  permitting  me  to  use  the  ma 
terial  in  this  connection. 

And  a  last  word,  dear  reader.  Pray  do  not 
scan  these  pages  for  literary  merit.  I  have 
not  aimed  for  it.  The  tale  possessed  me  and 
whirled  me  along  from  start  to  finish  so  swiftly 
I  could  scarcely  pause  to  put  in  stops,  and  make 
paragraphs.  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  the  reading 
as  much  as  I  did  the  writing! 

JAMES  COOPER  WHEELER. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  CASK  WAS  FLUNG  FIFTY  FEET  ALOFT  .     .     Frontispiece 

SEE  CHAPTER 
THUS  WE  LAY  MOORED  IN  SECURITY,  THROUGH  THE 

LIVE  LONG  NIGHT IV 

"  IT'S  A  FLOATER,  I  THINK,"  HE  REPLIED,  "  BUT  IT'S  A 

LONG  WAY  OFF  " XV 

THE  WOMAN,  YOUNG  AND  HANDSOME,  SEEMED  UNCON 
SCIOUS  OF  HER  BURDEN XVI 

SUDDENLY  WE  HELD  OUR  BREATH,  AND  LISTENED  AS  IF 

OUR  SOULS  DEPENDED  ON  OUR  HEARING  .  .  XVIII 


THERE    SHE    BLOWS 

A  WHALING  YARN 

CHAPTER  ONE 

WHEN  I  arrived  in  New  Bedford  I  found 
the  bark  Avola,  Captain  Zenas  Bourne, 
was  to  clear  for  a  three  years'  voyage  in  the 
South  Pacific,  the  following  morning.  The 
vessel  was  outfitted  by  the  firm  of  Woodward 
Brothers,  and  I  made  for  their  store.  The 
room  I  entered  seemed  a  sort  of  warehouse 
filled  with  coils  of  rope,  and  all  sorts  of  marine 
supplies  were  piled  around,  while  from  hooks  in 
the  walls  and  ceiling  hung  sea  boots,  and  oil 
skins. 

A  smallish,  wiry  man  with  sea-beaten, 
craggy  face  was  talking  to  a  well-dressed  gen 
tleman  I  took  to  be  Mr.  Woodward.  I  felt  in 
my  bones  that  the  other  was  Captain  Zenas 
Bourne,  so  I  stepped  to  the  railing  that  divided 
the  room,  and  when  he  turned  and  glared  at 
me,  said: 

I 


2  There  She  Blows 

"Are  you  Captain  Bourne?" 

"Yes.     What  do  you  want  ?" 

I  don't  believe  he  meant  to  be  brusk,  or  knew 
that  he  was  so.  The  habit  of  the  quarter-deck, 
that  of  a  life-time,  had  formed  his  manners, 
and  he  carried  them  ashore  and  afloat.  He 
eyed  me  keenly  as  I  told  him : 

"I  hear  the  Avola  is  to  sail  on  a  three  years' 
cruise  to-morrow,  and  I'd  like  a  berth  in  her." 

At  this  point  he  suddenly  reached  over  the 
railing,  and  seized  my  hand.  He  turned  the 
palm  up,  and  scrutinized  it : 

"Well,  I'm  blowed!"  he  grunted  at  the  end 
of  his  investigation.  "It  looks  as  if  you  had 
done  some  work!  What  do  you  want  to  go 
sperm  whaling  for?  What's  your  name,  and 
where  do  you  hail  from?" 

"Ed  Hall,  sir,  and  I  was  born  on  Long 
Island." 

"Humph !  What  are  you  going  to  sea  for  ? 
Done  anything  wrong,  and  running  away?" 

My  temper  is  a  little  short  at  times,  and  it 
really  seemed  Captain  Bourne  was  going 
further  than  he  had  any  right,  for  I  was  not 
his  sailor — yet.  So  I  said : 

"I  am  twenty-six  years  old,  and  my  own 


A  Whaling  Yarn  3 

master,  and  it's  nobody's  business  but  my  own 
why  I  go  to  sea." 

Instead  of  getting  angry,  the  old  boy  grinned 
at  this,  and  inquired: 

"What  do  you  expect  to  do  aboard  the 
Avola?  Know  anything  about  ship  work?" 

I  answered  pretty  earnestly : 

"You're  mistaken,  captain,  if  you  think  I 
will  not  be  worth  my  grub.  I  can  work  hard, 
and  pull  a  good  oar  although  I'm  not  a  sailor- 
man." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  skipper  gruffly,  "You 
may  have  some  good  stuff  under  your  skin. 
That  bulldog  jaw  of  yours  looks  like  it.  I'll 
ship  you  as  a  green  hand,  and  give  you  the  two- 
hundredth  lay  in  the  voyage.  Here  are  the 
articles.  Sign  them  now.  You  ship  for  three 
years  not  to  exceed  five.  You  can  buy  your 
kit  here,  and  it  will  be  charged  against  your 
lay.  Do  you  know  what  to  get  ?  No  ?  Then 
I'll  help  rig  you  out  now." 

I  had  found  favor  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  and 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  suited  me  pretty  well,  too. 
He  picked  me  out  a  donkey,  or  sea-chest,  and 
I  stowed  it  with  a  judicious  selection  of  sea 
going  apparel  and  necessaries.  He  added  a 


4  There  She  Blows 

single  mattress,  and  pair  of  gray  blankets,  and 
announced  that  I  was  ready  for  the  voyage. 

"And,  by  the  way,"  he  added,  "you'd  better 
borrow  a  wheelbarrow  from  Mr.  Woodward, 
and  take  your  dunnage  down  to  the  ship  now. 
I'll  go  with  you  and  pick  you  out  a  bunk.  If 
you  wait  till  morning  those  Geezers  (Anglice: 
Portuguese)  that  I've  shipped  for'ard  will  get 
to  windward  of  you,  and  leave  you  the  worst 
quarters  in  the  fo'k's'l." 

I  was  taken  aback  by  the  rapidity  with  which 
Captain  Bourne  carried  things  along,  as  well 
as  inclined  to  be  complimented  by  what  was 
surely  unusual  interest  in  the  personal  affairs 
of  a  prospective  foremast  hand.  But  I  man 
aged  not  to  lose  my  head,  and  trundled  the 
wheelbarrow  behind  him  to  the  wharf.  The 
Old  Man  hailed  the  ship-keeper,  and  he  and  I 
took  my  outfit  to  the  forecastle,  which  was  be 
tween  decks  in  the  bow  of  the  Avola.  Two 
rows  of  bunks  built  onto  the  skin  of  the  vessel 
extended  around  the  room.  The  captain 
pointed  out  the  lower  one  in  front  of  the  scut 
tle,  and  right  amidships : 

"There !"  he  ejaculated,  "that's  the  best  bunk 
for'ard,  and  you'll  have  to  fight  to  hold  on 


A  Whaling  Yarn  5 

when  the  Geezers  find  a  green  hand  has  made 
fast  to  it." 

"All  right,  sir,  I  can  scrap,"  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  with  what  I  am  sure  was 
appreciation  in  his  shrewd,  old,  gray  eyes,  and 
remarked : 

"Well,  you  will  have  to  whether  you  can,  or 
not.  Now,  have  you  got  money  for  your  sup 
per  and  bed?  You'll  get  breakfast  aboard 
after  we're  under  way." 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I'm  all  right,  and 
I'll  be  aboard  at  daylight  in  the  morning." 

Captain  Zenas  Bourne  rolled  up  the  street, 
and  left  me  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  leaned 
against  a  post,  and  watched  him  pass  out  of 
sight  with  a  feeling  in  my  heart,  that  whatever 
might  befall,  that  old  man  and  I  were  going 
to  be  good  friends. 

I  was  down  at  dawn  the  next  morning,  and 
the  dock  alongside  the  Avola  already  began  to 
swarm  with  those  interested  in  the  sailing  of 
the  whale  ship.  Captain  Bourne,  and  his  of 
ficers,  the  first,  second,  third,  and  fourth  mates, 
were  among  the  first.  Then  the  sailors  began 
to  string  along,  a  motley  crowd,  some  carrying 
their  kits  in  round-bottomed  canvas  bags  on 


6  There  She  Blows 

their  shoulders,  and  others  wheeling-  their 
donkeys  on  barrows  borrowed  from  their 
boarding  masters.  Most  of  them  were  Por 
tuguese,  of  all  shades  of  complexion  from  jet 
black  to  light  orange.  Although  the  Old  Man 
recognised  me  with  an  approving  nod,  I  felt 
rather  as  though  I  was  in  a  foreign  country. 
However,  when  the  whole  crew  had  arrived, 
I  found  of  the  twenty  individuals  who  com 
posed  it,  one  fifth,  or  four  of  us  were  Amer 
icans.  There  was  an  old  Yankee  sea  dog,  a 
young  fellow  from  Vermont,  a  stalwart  darky 
from  one  of  the  Southern  states,  and  myself. 

Shortly  after  sun-up  the  mate  took  charge  of 
the  deck,  and  men  were  sent  aloft  on  the  yards 
to  loosen  the  sails;  then  as  the  Avola's  fasts 
were  cast  off  from  the  wharf,  her  canvas  was 
sheeted  home.  The  second  mate  stood  at  the 
wheel  until  she  was  fairly  under  way  when 
one  of  the  able  seamen  was  called  to  take  it. 
After  a  half  hour  in  which  all  hands  labored  to 
reduce  the  chaotic  confusion  about  the  decks 
into  something  like  order,  the  whole  crew  was 
summoned  to  the  quarter  deck,  and  lined  up 
on  the  leeward  side.  This  was  for  the  purpose 
of  separating  us  into  the  starboard  and  port 
watches.  The  captain  is  supposed  to  head  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  7 

starboard  watch,  and  the  first  mate  the  port, 
although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  captain  does 
not  stand  any  watch,  the  second  mate  perform 
ing  this  part  of  his  duty.  A  whaler's  crew  is 
divided  into  boats-crews  as  well  as  watches, 
and  when  the  ceremony  was  through  I  found 
Jonas,  the  Yankee  sailor,  and  I  were  both  in 
the  starboard  watch,  while  Barker,  the  Ver- 
monter,  and  George  the  darky  were  in  the 
mate's  division.  The  Old  Man,  who  also 
nominally  headed  the  starboard  boat's  crew— 
although  he  was  not  expected  to  lower  except 
in  emergencies — picked  me  to  pull  the  after 
oar. 

After  these  preliminaries  were  arranged  the 
starboard  watch  was  allowed  to  go  to  break 
fast,  and  here  I  had  a  new  experience.  We 
went  below,  and  prepared  for  the  meal  by  get 
ting  out  our  tin  pots  and  pans.  Shortly, 
Slush,  the  cook,  came  forward  to  the  forecastle 
with  a  bucket  on  each  arm.  One  of  the  Portu 
guese  sailors,  a  giant  of  a  fellow,  picked  up  a 
small  wooden  tub  from  behind  the  steps  and 
standing  directly  under  the  hatch  allowed 
Slush  to  fill  it  from  his  buckets.  I  was  on  my 
donkey  in  front  of  my  bunk,  pot  and  pan  ready, 
and  watched  what  ensued  with  great  interest. 


8  There  She  Blows 

Jonas  sat  on  his  chest  next  me,  and  also  looked 
on  apparently  in  some  discontent  at  the  read 
iness  of  the  big  dago,  whose  name  was  Anton. 
I  must  describe  Jonas  more  particularly  so  you 
will  better  understand  the  events  which  took 
place  in  a  short  time. 

He  was  of  the  traditional  Yankee  type ;  sal 
low-faced,  with  features  which  might  have 
been  shaved  to  an  edge  with  a  draw  knife.  His 
keen,  wintry,  blue  eyes  twinkled  with  humorous 
intelligence,  and  lit  up  his  quaint  countenance. 
In  figure  he  was  one  of  those  tall,  spindly-look 
ing  New  Englanders  who  are  so  deceptive  in 
appearance.  With  his  narrow  and  sloping 
shoulders  he  seemed  a  fit  subject  for  con 
sumption,  and  who  was  to  guess  that  his  chest 
was  deep  and  thick,  and  his  trunk  round  as  a 
barrel,  while  his  seemingly  fragile  limbs  had 
the  strength  and  elasticity  of  tempered  steel. 
I  had  seen  all  sorts  in  the  gymnasiums  in  New 
York,  and  divined  something  of  the  real  man 
under  the  covering  of  his  uncouthness,  but  to 
the  dagoes  the  Yankee  was  a  weakling — and 
according  to  forecastle  ethics — a  good  subject 
for  imposition. 

The  meal  consisted  of  a  large  chunk  of  salt 
beef,  and  about  half  a  bushel  of  potatoes  boiled 


A  Whaling  Yarn  9 

with  their  skins  on.  A  box  one  foot  high  and 
two  long  called  the  bread  barge,  was  filled  with 
hard  tack,  and  completed  the  repast.  Anton, 
the  big  Portuguese,  was  evidently  regarded 
a  man  of  weight  among  his  shipmates.  At 
any  rate,  he  assumed  the  leadership  in  fore 
castle  matters  from  the  beginning,  as  was 
shown  by  his  so  promptly  getting  out  the  mess 
kid — the  small  tub  which  serves  as  a  platter — 
and  receiving  the  food  from  the  cook.  As  I 
found  out  afterward,  each  watch  ordinarily 
agrees  on  a  leader  who  is  called  "Captain  of 
the  forecastle,"  and  among  his  other  functions 
is  that  of  partitioning  the  meals  delivered,  so 
to  speak,  in  bulk  by  Slush. 

In  short,  Anton  without  qualifying  had 
taken  upon  himself  the  running  of  the  fore 
castle  affairs  of  the  watch,  and  the  assumption 
was  approved  by  the  rest  of  his  compatriots. 
Jonas  knew,  and  realised  all  this,  but  although 
I  saw  something  was  out  of  gear,  I  had  only  a 
dim  conception  of  the  situation.  But  when 
Anton  had  cut  all  the  eatable  portion  of  the 
beef  from  the  joint,  and  divided  it  among  the 
other  Geezers  and  himself,  and  handed  over 
the  remnants  of  gristle  and  bone  to  Jonas  and 
me,  I  was  perfectly  ready  to  back  the  Yankee 


io  There  She  Blows 

in  the  measures  he  promptly  took  to  reorganize 
the  dago  plan  of  campaign.  He  looked  at  me 
inquiringly,  and  I  suppose  my  face  satisfied 
him,  for  without  more  ado,  or  a  word  of  ex 
planation  he  reached  over,  and  calmly  ex 
changed  the  contents  of  Anton's  plate  for  the 
bare  bone  allotted  to  him.  The  Portuguese 
was  so  paralysed  by  the  impudence  of  this  tin- 
looked  for  action  that  for  a  second  he  made  no 
motion  of  remonstrance,  sitting  in  amazement 
at  the  temerity  of  this  insignificant-looking 
heretic.  But  the  eyes  of  his  countrymen  were 
upon  him,  and  he  realised  he  must  establish  his 
supremacy  on  the  spot,  or  be  unable  forever 
after. 

He  put  down  his  plate,  and  the  next  moment 
his  huge  black  fingers  closed  around  Jonas' 
scrawny  throat.  As  he  felt  the  clutch,  Jonas 
delivered  the  blow  called  an  "upper  cut"  by 
boxers,  and  caught  Anton  full  on  the  square 
point  of  his  black  chin.  The  Yankee's  blow 
was  given  with  such  unexpected  and  surprising 
strength  that  the  form  of  the  giant  Portuguese 
struck  the  deck  shoulders  first.  The  next  in 
stant  the  other  seven  dagoes  piled  onto  the 
Yankee.  I  had  begun  to  comprehend  what 
Jonas'  inquiring  look  at  me  meant,  and  it  did 


A  Whaling  Yarn  n 

not  take  long  for  me  to  get  into  the  battle.  In 
fact,  I  succeeded  in  stopping  two  of  our  as 
sailants  before  they  reached  my  ally.  The 
first  one  I  got  a  full  swing  at,  and  hit  him  so 
hard  under  the  ear  that  he  went  over  almost  as 
limply  as  Anton.  The  second  got  hold  of  me 
before  I  had  a  chance  to  strike,  but  I  butted 
him  full  in  the  face,  and  he  sat  down  on  a 
donkey,  and  tried  to  hide  his  head  in  his  arms. 
And  now  Jonas  started  to  work,  and  it  was 
evident  he  was  an  artist.  The  first  fellow  who 
got  to  him  he  grasped  below  the  hips,  and  with 
a  quick  swing  catapulted  him  over  his  head, 
and  into  the  bunk  behind.  This  man  did  not 
attempt  to  come  out  again  during  the  scrim 
mage,  and  this  only  left  us  four  to  deal  with. 
Two  of  them,  however,  were  cunning  enough 
to  drop,  and  seize  the  Yankee's  knees  and  feet, 
and  I  knew  that  the  others  would  have  kicked 
him  the  instant  he  was  down.  I  did  my  best 
to  stop  that  game  by  giving  the  biggest  a  tre 
mendous  crack  in  the  eye  that  must  have  made 
him  see  a  good  many  stars,  for  he  hallooed  out 
something  in  Portuguese,  and  started  up  the 
scuttle  steps  to  the  deck.  It  did  not  appear  to 
make  any  difference  to  Jonas  whether  he  was 
standing  up,  or  lying  down;  he  apparently 


12  There  She  Blows 

fought  just  as  viciously  in  one  posture  as  the 
other,  and  the  way  he  mauled  those  two  poor 
dagoes  who  had  thought  they  were  going  to  get 
him  at  their  mercy,  was  surprising.  At  last 
he  got  an  opportunity  he  had  been  manoeuvring 
for,  and  gave  the  most  troublesome  one  a  kick 
in  the  stomach  that  hurled  him  senseless 
against  the  after  bulkhead. 

The  fight  was  over,  although  I  could  hardly 
realise  it.  It  had  not  taken  two  minutes  for 
us  to  whip  the  whole  watch,  for  the  ones  who 
remained  capable,  had  no  desire  to  continue 
hostilities.  Now  I  became  aware  for  the  first 
time  that  the  hatchway  was  filled  with  excited 
faces.  The  next  instant  they  all  melted  away, 
and  the  rock-hewn  features  of  Captain  Bourne 
appeared.  After  squinting  down,  he  called 
out  sharp  and  stern : 

"Below  there!  Are  you  through  scrap- 
ping?" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  replied  Jonas  and  I  simul 
taneously. 

"Then  pile  out  here,  the  starboard  watch! 
I  want  to  see  you  all  aft." 


CHAPTER  TWO 

'"THE  starboard  watch  filed  aft,  and  paraded 
1  on  the  lee  quarter.  We  did  not  look  as 
shipshape  as  half  and  hour  before.  Jonas  and 
I,  except  that  our  clothing  was  in  rags,  turned 
up  all  right,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
Portuguese  were  in  bad  shape.  The  Old  Man 
walked  down  the  line  scrutinizing  each  indi 
vidual  keenly  until  he  had  thoroughly  mastered 
the  condition  of  affairs.  He  considered  a  mo 
ment  while  we  stood  uncomfortably  watching 
him.  Then  he  began  to  speak : 

"Men,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  a  ring  of 
absolute  authority  I  had  not  heard  before. 
"You've  begun  this  cruise  with  a  good-sized 
scrap  among  yourselves,  but  I  am  not  going  to 
growl  about  it.  I  like  a  good  fight  myself.  It's 
all  right  down  in  the  forecastle,  and  lets  out  the 
bad  blood.  It  must  not  come  on  deck.  If  it 
does,  I'll  take  a  hand,  and  you  will  find  I  can 
keep  the  ball  rolling  pretty  swift — if  you  start 
it  going.  One  more  word  before  you  go  for 
ward.  I  said  I  like  a  scrap,  but" — here  he 


14  There  She  Blows 

glared  up  and  down  the  line,  "you  must  do 
your  fighting  fair  and  sailor-like!  I  won't 
have  seven  or  eight  of  you  piling  on  one.  It 
seems  to  me  something  of  that  sort  happened 
this  morning,  but  you  dagoes  got  all  you 
called  for,  and  it  served  you  right.  Go  for 
ward!" 

Away  we  went,  Jonas  and  I  in  the  lead, 
chuckling  to  ourselves  over  this  taste  of  the 
Old  Man's  quality.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
fight,  and  his  speech  on  top  of  it,  made  my  ex 
istence  in  the  forecastle  very  different  from 
what  it  might  have  been.  The  watch  resumed 
its  interrupted  meal.  One  of  the  Portuguese 
voluntarily  shared  his  liberal  portion  of  beef 
with  me,  and  Anton  nibbled  meekly  at  the  bone 
the  doughty  Yankee  had  dispensed  as  his  share. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  friendship 
with  Jonas.  He  promised  he  wrould  take 
charge  of  my  nautical  education,  and  teach  me 
all  about  the  rigging,  and  how  to  box  the  com 
pass  so  that  in  a  week  or  so  I  would  know  as 
much  as  the  average  run  of  ordinary  seamen. 
And  while  we  are  on  this  subject  I  must  de 
scribe  the  Avola  to  you. 

She  was  bark-rigged,  that  is,  she  had  three 
masts  like  a  ship,  but  the  fore  and  main  masts 


A  Whaling  Yarn  15 

carried  square  sails  while  the  mizzen  was  fitted 
with  fore  and  aft  canvas  like  a  schooner.  She 
was  a  very  old  hull,  and  had  originally  been  in 
the  West  India  trade,  but  forty  or  fifty  years 
before  had  been  caught  in  a  hurricane,  and  all 
the  sticks  blown  out  of  her.  The  hulk  had 
been  bought  by  some  enterprising  New  Bed 
ford  man,  and,  after  refitting,  turned  into  a 
whaler.  She  was  said  to  be  soaked  with  sperm 
oil  from  stem  to  stern,  and  that  preserved  her 
from  falling  to  pieces  with  dry  rot,  like  the 
"One  Hoss  Shay"  Doctor  Holmes  described 
about  the  time  the  Avola  must  have  been  built. 
For  the  rest,  she  was  blunt-bowed,  and  no 
sailor,  but  comfortable  in  a  sea  way.  She 
carried  four  whaleboats,  and  it  took  our 
large  crew  to  man  them  all.  The  whaling 
craft  of  those  days  scorned  such  devices  as 
patent  blocks,  and  double  topsails,  or  the  more 
modern  donkey  engine  to  help  out  in  the  heavy 
drags,  but  put  their  reliance  on  the  number  of 
the  crew,  and  main  strength.  To  wind  up  she 
was  of  373  tons  burden. 

What  was  rare  even  in  those  days  the  old 
hooker  had  a  flush  deck  from  the  taffrail  to  the 
chocks  in  the  bow  only  interrupted  by  the  try 
works  abaft  the  foremast,  and  the  galley 


16  There  She  Blows 

further  aft,  and  Jonas  told  me  that  if  she  had  a 
topgallant  forecastle  and  poop  deck,  she  could 
not  have  sailed  a  knot  an  hour  in  a  fair  gale, 
and  the  best  she  could  do  now  was  not  over  six. 
He  said  she  had  been  built  by  the  mile,  and 
sawed  off  to  order. 

We  had  a  brisk  and  steady  breeze  that  al 
lowed  us  to  lay  our  course,  and  all  hands  were 
kept  on  deck  the  balance  of  the  day  to  stow 
the  loose  odds  and  ends  in  place,  and  get  things 
in  shipshape  order.  I  stuck  close  to  Jonas, 
and  picked  up  all  the  information  I  could. 
Whenever  we  had  a  leisure  moment,  which  was 
not  often,  he  coached  me  on  the  names  of  the 
ropes  that  hung  and  trailed  everywhere.  He 
was  an  A.  B.  himself;  and  as  I  found  out  after 
ward,  could  have  dismantled  the  bark  and  set 
up  her  rigging  taut  as  ever,  and  not  been  puz 
zled  by  the  problem.  He  told  me  he  hailed 
from  Gloucester  and  had  worked  with  the  fish 
ing  fleet  as  a  boy,  afterwards  sailing  deep 
water  out  of  New  York  for  some  years.  Then 
when  he  had  got  a  taste  of  blubber  hunting,  he 
had  never  been  able  to  detach  himself  from  it. 

I  became  acquainted  with  the  officers  during 
the  day,  and  I  may  as  well  describe  them,  for 
you  will  often  meet  them.  The  mate  was  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  17 

tall,  well-built  man  of  thirty  years.  Jonas 
told  me  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  as  good 
a  seaman  as  ever  slapped  the  deck  with  his 
foot,  but  he  had  a  bad  temper.  One  voyage 
he  had  been  promoted  to  master  through  the  ac 
cidental  death  of  the  captain,  and  had  used  his 
crew  so  badly  he  had  been  imprisoned  when  he 
brought  the  ship  into  port.  The  Yankee 
thought  we  were  as  well  off  not  to  be  in  his 
watch,  as  he  was  apt  to  make  trouble  with  his 
men. 

"However,"  concluded  Jonas,  "the  Old  Man 
will  attend  to  him  if  he  gets  gay.  They  don't 
none  of  'em  want  to  fall  foul  of  old  uncle  Zene !" 

I  looked  up  as  he  called  the  captain  by  this 
name,  and  the  Yankee  laughed  at  my  puzzled 
expression,  and  explained  that  was  his  common 
nickname  ashore  and  afloat. 

Mr.  Stoddard,  the  second  mate,  who  headed 
our  watch,  was  a  man  of  different  make-up. 
He  weighed  about  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  and  appeared  fat,  but  he  was  in  reality 
a  mass  of  brawn  and  muscle,  and  wonderfully 
spry  for  his  size.  He  was  said  to  be  one  of  the 
best  whalemen  in  the  fleet,  and  a  good  fellow  in 
every  way. 

The  third  officer  was  Mr.  Fletcher,  a  darky, 


1 8  There  She  Blows 

and  an  efficient  sailor-man.  Mr.  Morrison,  a 
Blue-nose  from  Nova  Scotia,  winds  up  the  roll 
as  fourth  mate.  I  came  to  know  him  very  well 
later  on,  and  he  was  a  man  to  tie  to. 

At  two  o'clock,  four  bells  shipboard  time, 
Captain  Bourne  called  out  to  me  as  I  stood  with 
Jonas  forward  of  the  try  works : 

"Lay  aft  here,  you,  Ned!"  was  what  he  said, 
and  his  tone  left  no  doubt  on  my  mind  he  meant 
me  to  come  on  the  run.  That  was  what  I  did, 
and  when  I  reached  the  wheel  where  he  was 
standing,  he  said  as  peremptorily  to  Big  Anton 
who  had  the  trick: 

"Go  forward,  you !" 

The  Portuguese  dropped  the  spokes  as  if  they 
were  red  hot,  and  went  as  rapidly  as  I  had 
come. 

"Now,  you  Long  Island  greeny,"  said  Uncle 
Zene,  "I'm  going  to  give  you  a  lesson  in  steer 
ing.  Can  you  box  the  compass  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  replied,  "but  I'll  be  able  to  this 
time  to-morrow." 

"See  that  you  do,"  he  growled  good-natur 
edly.  "Well,  never  mind  the  compass  to-day 
then.  Do  you  see  the  corner  of  that  sail  ?"  and 
he  indicated  it  with  his  gnarled  old  forefinger. 
"That's  the  weather  clew  of  the  mainsail.  You 


A  Whaling  Yarn  19 

keep  it  lifting.  Feel  her  with  the  spokes!  A 
little  more  to  starboard !  I  suppose  you  know 
starboard  means  right,  you  numskull?  Now 
to  port !  Keep  feeling  her !" 

And  so  he  kept  on  to  my  surprise  and  grat 
itude,  in  a  gruff,  authoritative  way,  but  with  a 
direct  clearness  that  soon  gave  me  confidence. 
I  caught  on  so  quickly  that  his  grim  features 
became  quite  amicable,  and  at  last  he  conde 
scended  to  say  as  though  he  was  admitting  too 
much : 

"You're  a  good  deal  of  a  lubber,  Ned,  but  I 
guess  after  awhile  we'll  manage  to  make  a 
sailor-man  of  you.  Who  started  that  scrap 
down  below  this  morning?  And  what  was  it 
about?" 

He  sprung  these  two  questions  at  me  as  a 
cat  pounces  on  a  mouse.  I  hesitated  one  mo 
ment,  but  reflecting  that  it  could  not  do  any 
body  any  harm,  I  related  the  story  exactly  as  it 
occurred.  He  listened  with  interest,  and  nod 
ded  in  a  satisfied  way  when  I  had  finished. 

"Yes,"  lie  commented,  "that's  about  how  I 
thought  it  happened.  That  Jonas  seems  to  be 
a  pretty  handy  man,  don't  he?  You  have  got 
to  keep  your  end  up  at  sea.  If  you  don't,  you 
go  up  yourself.  You  tie  to  Jonas,  and  learn  the 


2O  There  She  Blows 

ropes  as  soon  as  you  can.  Go  aloft  every 
chance  you  get,  and  don't  be  on  the  hind  rattlin. 
Now  get  forward  to  your  work  again,  and  send 
Anton  aft  to  the  wheel." 

Mr.  Morrison  and  the  Yankee  were  working 
together  making  a  long  splice  as  I  carried  my 
message  to  Anton,  and  the  former  called  me  to 
them : 

"What  was  the  Old  Man  saying  to  you,  Ned? 
Do  you  know,  you  kind  of  favor  him,"  he  add 
ed,  looking  at  me  curiously,  "same  gray  eyes, 
and  long,  undershot  chin!  What  did  he  say?" 

"He  seemed  to  be  curious  about  the  scuffle  in 
the  forecastle,"  I  answered.  "And  I  told  him 
the  whole  story." 

"That's  what  you  want  to  do  if  he  asks  you 
anything,"  remarked  the  fourth  mate,  who 
seemed  to  know  and  appreciate  uncle  Zene. 
"He  won't  question  you  if  it  ain't  right." 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  I  replied  heartily. 
"He's  a  good  man !" 

"None  better!"  agreed  Morrison  and  Jonas. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

T  FOUND  the  Avola  was  to  run  to  about  the 
latitude  of  the  Western  Islands,  and  then 
south,  parallel  to  the  eastern  coast  of  Africa. 
Things  quieted  down  the  first  week  we  were  at 
sea,  and  we  had  no  more  such  lively  days  as  the 
first  one  out  of  port.  Everything  was  snugged 
up  and  stowed  away,  and  the  men  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  each  other  and  the  officers,  and, 
in  short,  we  got  into  running  order  just  like 
any  other  machine.  We  had  good  weather  too, 
although  this  was  the  month  of  October,  and  we 
were,  Mr.  Morrison  told  me,  liable  to  run  into 
a  gale  any  time. 

Masthead  lookouts  were  sent  aloft  before  we 
were  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  dock,  and  the 
second  day  I  stood  my  trick  at  the  fore-royal 
with  Jonas.  This  was  an  experience  that  took 
me  some  time  to  get  accustomed  to.  A  heavy 
rope  becket  the  size  of  a  man's  body  is  made 
fast  to  the  butt  of  the  royal  mast,  the  height  of 
your  waist  above  the  futtock  shrouds  and  the 
lookout  stands  with  his  feet  upon  the  latter,  and 

21 


22  There  She  Blows 

his  body  through  the  former,  about  ninety  feet 
above  the  deck.  It  may  seem  perfectly  calm 
down  below,  but  when  you  are  up  there  the 
slightest  whisper  of  breeze  roars  like  a  tempest 
in  the  ears  of  the  green  hand.  And  then  the 
motion!  Possibly  only  a  gentle  see-saw  on 
deck  but  at  the  royal  masthead  you  sway  in  an 
arc  thirty  or  forty  feet  wide,  and  when  there  is 
really  a  heavy  sea  on,  it  takes  a  seasoned  sailor 
to  stand  it.  I  was  never  a  bit  qualmish — as 
far  as  sea-sickness  goes — from  the  beginning, 
but  I  confess  I  spent  a  dizzy  and  uncomfortable 
two  hours  there  the  first  time  I  did  masthead 
duty.  Afterwards  I  became  so  used  to  it  that  I 
really  enjoyed  the  swing  from  starboard  to 
port.  And  the  outlook  was  magnificent.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  ever  got  a  full  and  satis 
factory  idea  of  the  ocean,  although  I  had  often 
seen  it  from  the  shore,  being  a  Long  Islander. 
But  hanging  up  there  in  mid  air  with  our  boat 
the  only  speck  on  that  waste  of  living  water, 
was  a  sight  to  remember  and  make  you  feel 
pretty  small  and  lonely.  As  masthead  duty  is 
of  vital  importance  on  a  whaling  ship,  two  offi 
cers  also  stand  lookout  at  the  main  royal,  so 
there  are  always  during  the  daylight  four  sharp 
pairs  of  eyes  on  the  watch  for  Leviathan  if  he 


A  Whaling  Yarn  23 

shows  his  head — or  rather  his  hump — above 
water. 

It  happened  I  was  the  first  on  board  the 
Avola  to  "raise  whales,"  as  sighting  them  from 
the  masthead  is  termed.  We  were  ten  days  out 
and  the  weather  looked  threatening.  As  I  left 
the  wheel,  at  which  I  was  now  taking  my  reg 
ular  trick,  to  go  to  my  masthead  lookout,  I 
heard  the  Old  Man  tell  Mr.  Stoddard  that  the 
barometer  was  falling,  and  to  look  out  for 
squalls.  Ragged,  black  clouds  were  scurrying 
across  the  sky,  and  often  shutting  out  the  sun  as 
I  climbed  the  rattlings  to  the  masthead.  Jonas 
came  up  ahead  of  me,  and  as  he  was  settling 
himself  in  the  bight  of  the  sling  he  said  to 
me: 

"If  I  know  anything  about  North  Atlantic 
weather  we're  going  to  have  a  nasty  bit  of 
a  storm  before  many  hours  are  over." 

"I  suppose  a  storm  at  sea  must  be  exciting," 
I  remarked.  "I  never  saw  one." 

"Well,  you'll  see  plenty  before  you're 
through  this  voyage,  Ned,"  he  returned. 

As  I  gazed  about  I  could  perceive  that  the 
waves  were  growing  larger  and  more  turbulent, 
and  beginning  to  break  into  foam  at  their 
crests.  As  I  made  this  reflection  I  espied  an 


24  There  She  Blows 

unusually  big  patch  of  white  water  about  three 
miles  away  that  did  not  resemble  the  other 
waves,  and  close  beside  it  there  appeared  a 
black  spot,  and  then  something  that  looked  like 
a  jet  of  steam  shot  into  the  air.  I  suspected 
at  once  it  was  a  whale,  but  fearing  to  sound  a 
false  alarm  and  be  laughed  at,  I  pointed  it  out, 
and  said  quietly,  though  my  heart  was  beating 
fast: 

"Jonas,  is  that  a  whale?" 

He  caught  it  like  a  flash,  and  answered : 

"Of  course  it  is !  Sing  out  quick  before  the 
officers  catch  on  and  get  the  credit." 

"There  she  blows !"  I  yelled,  and  I  think  the 
whale  must  have  been  deaf  if  he  did  not  hear 
me  himself. 

The  next  instant  the  captain  who  had  been 
below  in  the  cabin,  burst  out  of  the  after  com 
panion  way  without  any  coat  or  hat.  In  a 
second  he  was  in  the  waist,  and  nearly  break 
ing  his  neck  in  the  effort  to  look  aloft : 

"Who  raised  them  whales?"  he  hailed. 

"Long  Island  Ned,  sir,"  I  called  down. 
That's  what  he  had  nicknamed  me. 

Before  he  had  time  to  say  any  more,  Mr. 
Stoddard,  at  the  main,  who  had  got  his  binocu 
lars  to  work,  began  to  sing  out,  and  the  Old 


A  Whaling  Yarn  25 

Man  stiffened  to  an  attitude  of  intense  atten 
tion: 

"Thar  she  blows!  Thar  she  blows!  Thar 
she  blows !  Thar  she  wrhite  waters !" 

This  last  was  a  wailing  screech,  and  the  Old 
Man  called,  his  voice  eager  as  a  terrier's 
whine : 

"What  do  you  make  of  him,  Mr.  Stoddard? 
That  sounds  to  me  like  sperm  whale,  sir !" 

"It's  a  lone  bull,  sir!     And  sperm  all  right." 

"Where  away?"  demanded  the  master. 

"Two  points  off  the  lee  bow,  sir,"  returned 
the  second  mate. 

The  captain  faced  the  attentive  man  at  the 
wheel : 

"Let  her  fall  off!"  he  ordered.  "Sing  out 
when  we  head  right,  Mr.  Stoddard." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir.  Steady!"  he  roared,  "steady 
as  she  goes !" 

And  the  Avola  pointed  straight  at  the  lone 
bull. 

"Brace  the  main  yard!"  was  the  captain's 
next  order. 

All  hands  were  on  deck  now,  having 
swarmed  up  almost  as  promptly  as  the  skipper, 
and  the  yards  came  home  with  a  swing.  Then 
the  halliards  were  tautened  up,  and  the  old 


26  There  She  Blows 

Avola  started  on  her  new  course  as  fast  as  she 
knew  how. 

"Steer  small!"  admonished  uncle  Zene  as  he 
reached  into  the  companion  rack  for  the  spy 
glass  to  which  he  clung  in  preference  to  the 
more  modern  binoculars.  He  adjusted  its 
lanyard  around  his  sinewy  neck,  and  mounted 
the  main  rigging  to  the  masthead  like  an  ac 
tive  boy.  The  whale  disappeared  now,  and 
Jonas  said  he  had  sounded,  but  would  come  to 
the  surface  again  before  long.  I  held  my 
breath  and  searched  that  stretch  of  black  water 
as  though  I  was  looking  for  gold.  Again  I 
was  the  lucky  one — I  guess  I  had  the  best  eyes 
—and  I  caught  the  black  spot  and  the  mist 
spray  of  the  spout  before  the  others : 

"Thar  she  blows!  Thar  she  blows!  Thar 
she  blows !" 

"Sperm  whale!"  yelled  the  Old  Man.  "Go 
below  you  mastheads !  Stand  by  to  lower  the 
boats!" 

I  was  jumping  with  excitement,  and  the 
blood  seemed  to  be  running  up  and  down  my 
backbone  as  if  a  faucet  was  turned  on  in  my 
head.  For  once  I  was  quicker  than  Jonas, 
and  I  was  out  of  my  becket  and  getting  down 
the  rigging  as  though  the  rattlings  were 


A  Whaling  Yarn  27 

greased.  When  I  struck  the  deck,  I  made  for 
the  after  house  on  the  keen  run,  with  Jonas 
close  behind.  Tom  Morrison  the  fourth  mate, 
who  headed  the  boat,  was  already  there,  and  as 
we  arrived,  he  and  Fayal  Joe  the  boatsteerer— 
harpooneer  he  is  called  in  books — had  the 
painted  canvas  cover  off  the  boat,  and  were 
lifting  the  tubs  of  whale  line  into  her: 

"Where's  your  bread  and  water,  Ned?"  he 
snarled. 

Not  that  he  meant  to  be  ugly,  but  at  this 
supreme  moment  nobody  stopped  to  oil  phrases, 
and  besides,  as  after  oarsman,  it  was  my  place 
to  fill  a  small  canvas  sack  with  hardtack,  and  a 
keg  with  water  which  was  taken  along  as  a 
precaution  in  case  of  the  boat  being  acciden 
tally  kept  from  returning  to  the  ship.  That 
was  the  secret  of  my  haste  in  coming  from  aloft, 
and  without  a  word  of  reply  except  "Aye,  aye, 
sir !"  I  seized  the  bag  and  keg,  and  dropped  to 
the  deck  to  fill  them.  I  put  the  keg  under  the 
faucet  of  the  water  butt,  and  set  it  running, 
and  then  filled  my  breadsack,  so  that  the  two 
operations  were  going  on  at  once.  Not  only 
I,  but  every  member  of  the  crew  seemed  to  be 
shod  with  quicksilver,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  period  of  time  the  boats  were  ready  to 


28  There  She  Blows 

go  in  the  water,  and  their  crews  stood  by  them 
awaiting  the  next  word  from  the  captain. 

This  detail  that  is  so  long  to  describe  did 
not  probably  take  over  five  minutes,  but  you 
must  remember  that  all  the  time  the  Avola  was 
bowling  down  the  wind  toward  the  whale,  and 
he  was  headed  our  way,  so  that  in  what  seemed 
a  breath  of  time,  the  Old  Man's  voice  came 
down  from  aloft: 

"Below  there?" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir !"  answered  the  mate. 

"Stand  by  to  lower  away.     Lower  away!" 

The  men  at  the  boat  tackles  bowsed,  the 
boats  were  pushed  overboard  as  they  swung 
free;  the  boatsteerer  leaped  in  the  bow  to  at 
tend  to  unhooking  the  tackle,  and  the  officer 
into  the  stern  sheets. 

"Surge  on  those  falls !"  was  the  order. 

The  boats  fell  smoothly  and  swiftly  to  the 
surface  of  the  water,  the  others  members  of 
the  crew  scrambled  over  the  side,  and  in  some 
miraculous  way  got  safely  on  their  thwarts. 
They  were  not  permitted  to  enter  the  boat  be 
fore  it  was  afloat  because  these  cockleshells  are 
built  of  the  flimsiest  material,  and  it  is  only 
through  the  wonderful  seamanship  of  the 
whalers  they  endure  the  work  they  are  forced 


A  Whaling  Yarn  29 

to  go  through.  The  weight  of  the  full  crew  in 
the  craft  while  it  was  swinging  in  the  air  would 
buckle  her  up  and  take  out  the  bottom. 

I  was  on  my  thwart  facing  the  fourth  mate 
about  as  soon  as  anybody,  though  I  nearly  went 
overboard  getting  there. 

"Pull  all!"  he  ordered,  as  he  passed  the  loom 
of  his  steering  oar  through  the  becket  that 
gave  him  his  purchase.  We  dropped  our  oars 
in  the  water,  and  in  a  few  strokes  left  the  ship 
behind : 

"Avast  pulling!"  sung  out  Morrison.  "Get 
out  that  mast,  and  step  it !" 

The  boat  mast  with  the  sail  furled  to  it  is 
kept  in  the  stern  sheets  with  the  butt  end  under 
the  after  thwart,  and  the  other  projecting 
astern.  The  tub  oarsman,  Jonas,  who  was 
next  to  me,  and  I  got  it  out  in  a  jiffy.  It  was 
passed  forward,  and  through  the  hole  in  the 
bow  thwart  into  the  cleat  at  the  keel  of  the  boat. 
The  next  instant  the  gaskets  were  cast  off,  the 
sheet  passed  aft  to  the  fourth  mate,  and  as  the 
halliards  were  tautened,  the  sail  caught  the 
wind.  The  boat  started  ahead  like  a  skittish 
horse,  but  Morrison  was  not  satisfied  with  our 
rate  of  speed,  and— 

"Pull  all!"  was  the  order. 


30  There  She  Blows 

Out  came  the  ash  blades  in  the  rowlocks 
again,  and  we  swept  over  the  wave  like  an  al 
batross.  It  was  hard  work  and  quick,  jerky 
pulling,  for  the  impetus  that  the  sail  gave  made 
me  look  out  pretty  sharp  that  I  did  not  catch  a 
crab.  I  recognised  the  danger  even  before  the 
fourth  mate  said  calmly : 

"Long  Island  Ned,  if  you  catch  a  crab,  I'll 
knock  your  head  off!" 

Beyond  that  possibility  the  consequences 
would  have  been  dire,  I  being  the  after  oars 
man.  I  think  Morrison  just  meant  to  brace 
me  up  with  the  threat,  although  he  was  a  very 
earnest  man,  and  little  given  to  fooling  when 
he  had  business  on  hand. 

The  boatsteerer  pulls  the  forward  oar  in  the 
whaleboat,  and  it  being  his  duty  to  throw  the 
harpoon,  he  thus  becomes  the  harpooner.  On 
board  ship  he  is  called  the  boatsteerer  because 
after  he  has  made  fast  to  the  whale  with  the 
harpoon,  or  "iron,"  he  comes  to  the  stern,  and 
steers  the  boat,  while  the  officer  occupies  his 
station  forward,  and  kills  the  whale  with  the 
lance.  Fayal  Joe,  a  Portuguese  from  the 
Azores,  steered  the  starboard  boat.  He  was 
a  tall,  long-geared  chap,  and  I  had  heard  it 
was  his  first  voyage  in  that  capacity. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  31 

In  rowing  we  had  our  backs  to  the  whale, 
and  as  no  one  under  Morrison's  eye  considered 
it  healthy  to  look  over  his  shoulder,  we  could 
not  see  how  quickly  we  were  coming  on  the 
quarry.  But  the  fourth  mate's  face  was  as 
plain  to  read  as  a  telltale  compass,  and  not 
five  feet  distant  from  mine  as  he  stood  at  his 
steering  oar.  His  deep  blue  eyes  glowed  over 
the  water  in  front,  and  his  figure  crouched  as  I 
imagine  a  wild  beast  contracts  itself  before  the 
spring  which  pulls  down  its  prey.  As  I  watch 
ed  he  set  his  teeth,  and  his  eyes  became  like 
coals,  and  I  knew  we  were  nearing  that  lone 
bull.  A  moment  more,  and  he  leaned  far  for 
ward,  as  if  he  were  reaching  out  with  his  body, 
and  shouted: 

"Stand  up,  Joe!" 

Fayal  Joe  put  the  end  of  his  oar  in  the  cleat, 
and  rose  to  his  feet  in  the  bow  of  the  boat.  As 
he  put  his  knee  in  the  slot  in  the  fore  sheets 
called  the  clumsy  cleat,  he  reached  over  and 
picked  up  his  "  iron,"  or  harpoon,  which  he 
had  previously  laid  ready  to  his  hand. 

'Teak  your  oars!  Get  your  paddles!"  or 
dered  Morrison. 

The  result  of  this  order  was  to  bring  the 
crew  paddle  in  hand,  sitting  on  the  gunwale 


32  There  She  Blows 

and  facing  the  whale.  As  I  expected  there 
was  the  bull  not  fifty  yards  away  and  bound 
past  us,  broadside  on.  His  huge  black  head, 
several  feet  above  the  crisping  waves,  was 
plainly  in  sight,  and  thirty  feet  further  back  his 
hump  arose  making  an  inky  island  in  the  sea. 
I  did  not  have  time  to  wonder  for  the  fourth 
mate  said  quietly — he  was  calmer  now  the 
climax  had  arrived : 

"Stand  by  to  take  in  the  sail!"  He  added: 
"Joe,  I'm  going  to  put  you  right  against  that 
fellow." 

I  had  my  eye  on  the  boatsteerer's  face  as  he 
spoke,  and  I  thought  I  saw  a  hint  of  uncer 
tainty  in  its  expression.  But  if  my  suspicion 
were  right  he  must  have  quickly  regained  his 
resolution.  It  seemed  to  me  we  passed  those 
few  yards  of  water  that  separated  the  boat  and 
the  whale  with  magical  quickness,  for  in  a 
twinkle  as  I  involuntarily  braced  my  body  to 
withstand  the  shock  of  contact,  the  nose  of  the 
boat  came  with  a  soft,  solid  chug  against  the 
side  of  the  whale,  just  abaft  the  fin.  I  saw 
Fayal  Joe's  long  arms  sway  aloft  with  the  iron, 
and  as  the  keen  point  came  down  piercing  the 
side  of  the  bull,  I  heard  Morrison's  steady, 
authoritative  voice,  saying: 


A  Whaling  Yarn  33 

"Clue  up  there!  Knock  that  mast  down! 
Steady,  lads !" 

While  this  was  doing  Joe  had  thrown  his 
second  or  "preventer  iron."  We  had  got  the 
sail  rolled  and  the  mast  down  and  stowed, 
when  Morrison's  voice  came  again,  and  this 
time  with  startling  emphasis: 

"Starn  all!     Starn  all,  for  your  lives!" 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

great  bull  whale,  when  it  felt  the  prick 
of  the  iron,  had  suddenly  arrested  his  on 
ward  course,  and  a  thrill  ran  through  his  frame 
that  turned  the  sea  water  into  foam.  Then  he 
began  "milling,"  as  the  whalers  call  it,  and 
steadily  revolved  on  his  axis,  as  one  might  say, 
until  his  flukes,  twenty  feet  from  corner  to 
corner,  came  with  smooth  velocity  under  the 
bow  of  the  whaleboat.  It  was  then  that  the 
fourth  mate  gave  his  warning  cry  to  stern  all 
away  from  the  advancing  peril.  There  was  no 
need  to  urge  us  to  push  hard  on  our  oars.  I 
never  worked  more  willingly  in  my  life  than 
I  did  right  there.  Luckily  we  caught  the  water 
together  with  the  blades  of  our  oars,  and  the 
light  boat  glided  away  from  the  impending 
catastrophe  as  fleetly  as  a  birchen  canoe.  Even 
as  we  drew  out  of  danger  that  tremendous  tail 
arose  with  the  easy  strength  of  a  mighty  en 
gine,  churning  the  brine  into  soap  suds,  and 
waved  aloft,  an  immense  black  signal  of  dis 
tress,  almost  over  our  heads. 

34 


TUTS   \VK   I. AY   MOORKI)   IN    SECURITY,    THROl'dl   TIIK   LIVE-LONG 
NIGHT. 

See  Chapter  IV. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  35 

"Not  this  time!"  remarked  the  cool  officer, 
with  a  smile  at  me,  as  the  boat  drew  still  further 
away.  "Ah,"  he  added,  "there  go  flukes !" 

The  other  boats  had  been  outstripped  by 
ours,  and  were  just  now  coming  to  the  scene 
when  we  were  "fast,"  and  the  whale  had  gone 
down.  We  had  scored  a  clean  beat  on  them 
and  Morrison  was  in  high  spirits  and  smiling 
at  the  other  officers  as  they  ranged  along  side. 
In  the  meantime  the  line  was  sizzling  out  of  the 
chocks  in  the  bow  of  our  boat,  and  leading 
straight  down  into  the  sea.  The  fourth  mate 
had  picked  up  a  bight  as  it  ran  out  of  the  tub, 
and  thrown  a  deft  turn  around  the  loggerhead 
in  the  stern  sheets,  used  as  a  snubbing  post. 
All  hands  in  the  starboard  boat  sat  facing  for 
ward,  oars  peaked,  and  ready  to  haul  in  as  soon 
as  the  bull  completed  his  perpendicular  dive. 
A  whale  of  this  size — Morrison  said  in  high 
glee  he  would  try  out  at  least  a  hundred  bar 
rels — will  frequently  remain  under  water  a  half 
hour  or  even  longer  before  being  forced  to 
come  to  the  surface  again  to  breathe.  Of 
course,  you  know  a  whale  is  a  full-blooded 
animal  like  a  hippopotamus  or  a  cow,  and  must 
fill  its  bellows  sooner  or  later,  or  drown.  I  sat 
there  and  watched  the  line  run  out;  it  whizzed 


36  There  She  Blows 

from  the  tub  to  where  the  fourth  mate  held  it 
down,  now  with  a  round  turn  about  the  logger 
head — for  more  than  half  had  disappeared— 
and  as  it  smoked  away  from  the  tough  oak  it 
writhed  and  curled  forward  between  the  oars 
men  to  the  chocks,  where  Joe  stood  with  an  eye 
on  the  boat  hatchet  in  case  something  fouled 
and  it  became  necessary  to  cut.  As  Morrison 
bore  down  with  more  strength  that  smoothly 
running  line  smoked  in  the  chocks  as  well  as  at 
the  snubbing  post,  and  the  drag  of  it  made  the 
boat  fairly  squat  in  the  water  under  the  tremen 
dous  strain.  If  it  snarled  as  it  came  out  of  the 
flemish  coil  in  the  tub,  and  snared  a  man  in  one 
of  those  bights,  it  wrould  snatch  him  a  hundred 
feet  beneath  the  surface  of  the  deep  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye — if  it  had  not  cut  him  in 
two  before  he  reached  there.  Morrison  sat  and 
smiled  happily,  and  bore  down  harder  on  the 
line  that  seemed  to  lead  straight  to  perdition— 
as  I  realised  our  peril. 

Then  to  my  great  relief  the  whizzing  streak 
began  to  lead  out  and  away  from  the  nose  of 
the  boat.  The  officer  showed  his  teeth  like  a 
school  boy  at  play,  and  said  cheerfully : 

"He's  coming  up,  Ned.  Now  you'll  see  some 
fun !  Lay  aft  here,  Fayal  Joe." 


A  Whaling  Yarn  37 

He  passed  lightly  forward  on  the  starboard 
side  of  the  boat,  and  Joe  came  aft  on  the  port. 
The  line  was  not  running  so  rapidly  now,  and 
by  the  time  the  fourth  mate  had  his  lances  laid 
out  for  ready  use  the  strain  on  the  boat  had 
ceased.  The  lances  have  a  blade  sharp  as  a 
razor,  and  a  wrought  iron  shank  six  feet  or 
more  long,  with  a  wooden  shaft  to  give  grasp 
to  the  hand  and  accuracy  to  the  dart.  They 
are  a  deadly  weapon  in  the  hand  of  a  skilful 
whaleman,  and  sometimes  a  single  dart  will 
penetrate  to  the  life  of  the  colossal  animal,  and 
send  it  in  its  death  flurry. 

And  now  as  the  line  became  less  tense,  and 
led  out  horizontally,  Morrison  ordered: 

"Haul  in  the  slack,  lads !" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir !" 

The  four  men  ahead  of  me  did  the  work;  it 
was  my  duty  to  coil  it  down  in  the  stern  sheets 
between  me  and  Fayal  Joe,  and  I  was  particular 
that  the  bights  should  be  laid  so  they  would  run 
out  clear  in  case  the  bull,  as  sometimes  hap 
pened,  took  a  notion  to  sound  again.  I  made 
each  bight  overlap  another  so  it  could  not  foul, 
and  Joe  looked  on  with  approval.  Morrison 
was  too  busy  watching  for  the  whale  to  break 
water  to  notice  my  scrupulous  care  and  any- 


38  There  She  Blows 

how  it  was  not  his  place  but  Joe's  to  attend  to 
this  detail. 

In  came  the  line,  and  then  I  heard  a  noise 
like  a  small  dam  breaking  loose  and  Joe  whis 
pered  : 

"Thar  she  breaks  water!" 

I  looked,  and  saw  the  green  sea  creaming 
over  the  square  snout  and  wicked  jaws  of  the 
bull,  as  it  rose  from  the  depths.  The  upper 
head,  or  "junk,"  as  whalemen  call  it,  is  a  huge 
mass  of  flesh  in  size  and  shape  like  a  box  car, 
while  the  lower,  which  contains  a  glistening 
array  of  big  ivory  teeth,  was  comparatively 
thin.  This  terrible  head  reared  itself  to  a 
height  of  about  twenty  feet;  then  the  rest  of 
the  body  appeared,  and  it  lay  before  us  in  full 
view,  not  forty  feet  away.  I  was  glad  we  were 
well  abaft  the  fin  and  nearer  the  tail  than  the 
head.  Later  I  discovered  that  many  blubber 
hunters  prefer  to  take  a  whale  head  on.  It  did 
not  seem  to  make  any  difference  to  Morrison. 
He  cast  a  glance  at  us  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
raised  his  lance,  and  said  softly,  as  though  he 
were  afraid  of  disturbing,  or  "galleying"  the 
bull: 

"Haul,  you  sons  of  guns !    Haul  hard,  now !" 

The  line  came  in  hand  over  hand,  and  I  coiled 


A  Whaling  Yarn  39 

away  like  mad,  not  forgetting  to  overlay  in  my 
haste.    Then  the  officer  said : 
"Assez!     Avast  hauling!" 
The  boat  continued  to  glide  ahead;  the  bull 
was  thirty  feet  away ;  twenty !    Morrison  poised 
his  lance  in  air  and  hurled  it  at  the  black  side 
of  the  monster.    It  struck  close  behind  the  fin, 
sunk  through  the  tough  blubber  like  a  sharp 
knife  cutting  cheese,  and  penetrated  deep  into 
his  vitals.    The  gigantic  frame  gave  a  convul 
sive  shudder,  and  as  a  shower  of  bloody  spray 
came  out  of  his  spout  hole,  Fayal  Joe  yelled : 
"You've  got  him,  sir.    You  touched  his  life !" 
The  fourth  mate  was  hauling  back  his  lance 
by  the  thin  warp,  and  viewing  the  bull  contem 
platively.     Suddenly  he  passed  the  lance  butt 
under  the  harpooneer  thwart,  and  roared  as  he 
hastily  sat  down  to  the  oar: 

"Starn  all,  you  blamed  fools !  Starn  all !" 
His  quick  eye  had  caught  some  indication, 
invisible  to  us,  that  the  whale  was  going  into 
his  flurry,  and  nothing  but  his  rapid  energy 
saved  the  bacon  of  that  boat's  crew.  Promptly 
as  we  obeyed  the  order,  we  had  not  driven  the 
boat  five  lengths  before  Leviathan  apparently 
stood  on  his  head  and  swung  those  flukes 
around  in  every  direction,  with  a  colossal 


4O  There  She  Blows 

strength  and  mad  energy  that  made  a  Niagara 
of  the  sea,  and  raised  waves  almost  swamping 
us  as  we  dug  stoutly  to  increase  our  distance 
from  this  maelstrom  bent  on  annihilating  us. 
Next  the  monster  started  an  insane  race  in  a 
circle  a  hundred  yards  in  diameter,  and 
threshed  around  with  a  tumultuous  velocity 
that  was  even  more  terrifying  than  his  first 
performance.  We  did  not  waste  time,  but  con 
tinued  to  back  water  until  we  finally  reached  a 
calmer  zone,  and  then  at  Morrison's  silent  ges 
ture,  lay  on  our  oars.  I  don't  want  to  be  hifal- 
utin,  but  there  was  something  tremendous  and 
elemental  in  that  spectacle.  This  magnificent 
animal,  a  hundred  feet  long,  and  endowed  with 
physical  strength  and  vitality  to  roam  the  illim 
itable  seas  unconquered  for  centuries,  wiped 
out  by  a  handful  of  New  Bedford  sailors  for  the 
purpose  of  supplying  oil  to  the  lamps  of  New 
England  farmers.  His  prodigious  power  had 
been  overcome  in  a  moment's  struggle,  and  this 
last  Cyclopean  exhibition  of  aimless  fury  was 
his  dumb  protest  against  the  inevitable  Law, 
that  all  Nature  must  submit  to  the  dominion  of 
Man. 

The  dying  struggle  did  not  endure  long.    We 


A  Whaling  Yarn  41 

could  see  his  energy  failing;  his  mad  rush  be 
came  slower  and  slower,  and— 

'There  he  goes,  belly  up!"  said  the  fourth 
mate. 

A  last  slap  on  the  water  with  his  flukes  sent 
the  spray  high  in  air  and  he  rolled  over  on  his 
back,  washing  about  in  the  salt  surge,  a  mere 
carcase  to  be  cut  up  and  tried  out  at  our  will. 

I  began  to  pay  some  attention  to  other  things 
than  the  whale.  In  the  first  place  I  missed  the 
rest  of  the  boats,  and  found  they  were  half  way 
between  us  and  the  Avola,  which  lay  about  four 
miles  to  leeward  under  reefed  topsails.  They 
had  returned  to  the  ship  and  left  us  alone  to 
fight  it  out,  which  I  suppose  was  good  whaling, 
but  seemed  to  me  very  unsympathetic.  Now 
I  became  aware  the  weather  had  changed  for 
the  worse.  The  wind  had  risen  and  was  howl 
ing  keenly  cold  about  our  ears,  while  the  sky 
seemed  close  down  upon  the  face  of  the  waters, 
and  was  filled  with  scurrying  clouds  that  had 
ragged  and  wind  torn  edges,  and  were  of  the 
color  of  greasy  ink.  I  noted  we  lay  about  fifty 
feet  from  the  dead  whale — we  had  hauled  up  on 
the  line — and  our  boat  seemed  to  be  in  com 
paratively  smooth  water,  while  the  surface  of 


42  There  She  Blows 

the  sea  that  environed  us  had  become  a  tur 
bulent  mass  of  foam.  Short  waves  leaped  and 
threw  their  spiteful  crests  toward  the  heavens, 
and  at  intervals  a  mountainous  wave  would 
swallow  up  all  the  little  ones  in  its  rush.  The 
fourth  mate  had  not  failed  to  see  all  this,  and 
now  he  said : 

"Get  for'ard  here,  Joe.  I  guess  I  had  better 
take  that  steering  oar." 

The  whale  boat  is  only  about  thirty  feet  long, 
and  this  steering  oar  projects  astern  half  its 
length,  giving  the  man  who  holds  it  such  ready 
control  he  can  shift  the  nose  of  the  light  craft 
in  a  moment  to  any  point  of  the  compass,  or  in 
fact,  almost  turn  it  on  its  axis.  This  is  one  of 
the  factors  of  the  whaleboat's  miraculous  sea 
worthiness  ;  the  steadiness  and  judgment  of  the 
man  who  grips  the  handle  is  the  other.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  to  question  our  safety  while 
Tom  Morrison  was  at  the  butt  of  that  steering 
oar,  and  apparently  the  rest  of  the  boat  crew 
like  me  cast  the  responsibility  on  him,  and  did 
not  worry  but  that  he  would  keep  us  out  of 
trouble. 

Tom  did  not  seem  to  think  there  was  any 
unusual  call  upon  his  powers,  and  wrent  right 
on  about  his  business  the  same  as  always.  We 


A  Whaling  Yarn  43 

pulled  up  to  the  carcase  and  flagged  it,  that  is 
put  a  steel-shod  pole  with  a  small  flag  on  the 
other  end,  into  the  blubber.  This,  I  took  it, 
was  more  a  point  of  etiquette  than  from  any 
fear  it  would  get  adrift,  and  some  one  else  claim 
it  as  their  prize.  Then  after  another  survey  of 
the  ship,  and  the  sky  to  windward,  he  settled 
himself  comfortably  in  the  stern  sheets  and  re 
marked  to  us : 

"Well,  lads,  I  reckon  we're  in  for  a  night  of 
it.  I  don't  calculate  the  old  bark  is  weatherly 
enough  to  beat  up  to  us  in  this  slant  of  wind, 
and  it  looks  as  if  it  would  blow  some  harder 
before  long.  It's  just  as  well  we've  got  the 
slick  of  this  sperm  whale  to  lie  in,  for  I  don't 
believe  the  Avola  can  get  to  us  before  morning, 
if  she  does  then." 

This  slick  he  mentioned  seemed  to  me  like 
a  special  interposition  of  Providence  in  our  be 
half,  but  I  knew  later  that  it  was  a  fact  always 
taken  advantage  of  by  the  hardy  whale  hunters 
of  the  North  Atlantic,  and  often  tempted  them 
to  lower  away  when  it  would  have  seemed  a 
mad  undertaking  to  less  adventurous  souls. 
That  huge  mass  of  the  whale's  body,  weighing 
as  nearly  as  one  can  estimate  from  thirty  to 
sixty  tons,  and  coated  over  all  with  blubber— 


44  There  She  Blows 

which  is  nothing  more  than  an  integumental  tis 
sue  filled  with  almost  fluid  fat — from  six  to 
fifteen  inches  thick,  exudes  oily  matter  enough 
to  still  the  turbulency  of  the  waves  to  a  great 
extent.  It,  the  slick,  covered  in  the  present 
instance  a  surface  of  perhaps  a  couple  of  thou 
sand  square  feet  right  in  the  lee  of  the  dead 
whale,  and  this  was  our  Port  of  Safety. 

Thus  we  lay  moored  in  security  with  the 
wind  shrieking,  and  occasionally  a  terrific 
snow  squall  howling  down  upon  us,  through 
the  live-long  night.  I  did  not  close  my  eyes, 
but  some  of  the  crew  actually  curled  up  on  their 
thwarts  and  took  catnaps.  Morrison's  hand 
never  left  the  loom  of  the  steering  oar,  but  his 
fostering  watchfulness  was  apparently  not 
needed,  for  the  staunch,  well-modelled,  honest 
ly-built  little  craft  rode  as  safely  under  the  lee 
of  the  carcase  as  if  it  were  in  a  quiet  mill  pond. 

Shortly  before  dawn  the  gale  moderated,  and 
the  air  grew  colder.  The  wind,  Morrison  told 
me,  had  shifted  several  degrees  to  the  north 
ward,  and  we  might  look  to  see  the  old  Avola 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  by  day  break. 
Then  the  stars,  which  had  shone  fitfully  among 
the  clouds,  began  to  grow  paler  and  a  mist 
appeared  along  the  eastern  horizon.  This  kept 


A  Whaling  Yarn  45 

growing  whiter  and  extending  further  around 
the  rim  of  the  heavens,  and  finally  scintillating 
gold  rays  shot  through  its  heart.  The  sky 
above  was  tinted  as  with  a  slow  brush  in  pink, 
and  at  last  the  upper  edge  of  the  sun's  disk 
appeared  over  the  black  surface  of  the  ocean 
and  marked  a  dazzling  yellow  path  on  it. 

The  fourth  mate  stood  up,  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  looked  over  the  whale  into 
the  eye  of  the  wind.  I  rose  and  followed  his 
glance.  Yes !  there  was  the  bark  bowling  mer 
rily  along  parallel  to  us,  and  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  away.  She  was  evidently  making  a  long 
leg  and  a  short  one  and  would  reach  us  on  the 
next  tack.  She  looked  mighty  comforting  to 
me,  and  my  heart  warmed  up  to  the  old  girl. 
I  guess  the  others,  except  Morrison — little  ex 
periences  of  this  sort  seemed  to  have  no  effect 
on  him — felt  the  same  as  I  did. 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

ALL  hands  were  on  deck  and  ready  for  work 
when  we  got  on  board  again.  The  first 
thing  of  course  was  to  make  our  capture  se 
cure.  We  in  the  boat  got  a  fluke  chain  around 
its  "small,"  that  part  of  the  body  next  the  tail, 
and  passed  it  aboard  through  the  hawse  hole, 
and  it  was  made  fast  on  the  windlass.  Then 
the  body  lay  along  the  ship's  side,  and  the  head 
projected  ten  feet  astern.  The  officers  agreed 
it  was  a  large  bull,  and  in  prime  condition. 
They  predicted  it  would  try  out  a  hundred  and 
fifteen  barrels. 

As  we  came  over  the  side,  a  pretty  tired  lot, 
the  Old  Man  sung  out : 

"Mr.  Haveron,  get  to  work!" 

"Starboard  boat's  crew  get  breakfast!"  or 
dered  the  mate.  Then  to  the  others:  "Off 
with  the  main  hatch!  Get  out  those  cutting 
tackles,  and  up  aloft  with  them!" 

While  this  was  doing  the  cutting-in  stage 
was  rigged  at  the  waist.  This  is  a  very  simple 
affair,  and  consists  of  two  twelve-foot  planks 


A  Whaling  Yarn  47 

thrust  outboard  from  amidships.  •  Another 
plank  of  the  same  length  is  bolted  to  them  at 
the  outer  ends,  and  the  whole  steadied  and 
guyed  by  whips  from  aloft.  A  waist-high  life 
line  is  added  for  the  safety  of  the  officers,  who 
stand  on  it  with  their  long-handled  whaling 
spades.  We  had  hurried  down  our  meal  by 
this  time,  and  Mr.  Stoddard  and  the  fourth 
mate  rolled  up  their  sleeves,  took  a  spade 
apiece,  and  went  out  on  the  stage.  It  wyas  their 
especial  work  because  the  starboard  boat  had 
made  the  capture. 

The  whale  was  hauled  forward  until  his  neck 
came  under  the  staging,  and  Stoddard  started 
in  to  cut  its  head  off.  This  was  not  an  easy 
job,  for  it  must  have  been  eleven  or  twelve  feet 
through.  The  spade  has  a  handle  twelve 
feet  long,  with  six-inch  blade.  He  worked 
away  industriously  until  he  was  tired  out,  and 
then  Morrison  took  a  hand  at  it.  The  carcase 
was  rolled  or  turned  as  they  chopped  to  give 
them  better  opportunity,  and  finally  by  muscle 
and  deftness  combined  they  found  the  joint  and 
got  the  head  free  from  the  body.  A  line  had 
previously  been  attached,  and  it  was  allowed  to 
float  astern  for  the  nonce. 

Next  a  transverse  line  was  marked  out  in 


48  There  She  Blows 

the  blubber,  and  they  got  their  spades  under 
neath  a  ten-foot  strip,  and  loosened  it  up.  The 
huge  cutting  tackle  was  overhauled,  and  Fayal 
Joe — for  he  struck  the  bull — put  a  life  line 
around  his  waist,  and  climbed  down  on  the 
slippery  back  of  Leviathan.  It  took  an  active 
and  sure-footed  man  to  stand  on  that  greasy 
black  skin,  and  more  than  one  shark  was  al 
ready  nosing  around,  but  the  nimble  Portu 
guese  scrambled  along  to  the  strip  and  cut  a 
round  hole  in  it  with  his  keen  boarding  knife. 
Then  he  reached  out  for  the  tackle  block,  and 
hooked  it  in.  This  concluded  his  part  of  the 
performance,  and  he  got  back  on  deck  with 
great  celerity.  The  tackle  fall  had  been  car 
ried  forward  to  the  old-fashioned  windlass,  and 
the  whole  crew  of  foremast  hands  now  manned 
the  brakes. 

"Make  a  noise  there !  Let's  hear  you !"  the 
Old  Man  called  from  the  quarter,  where  he  was 
watching  every  step  of  the  proceedings  with 
animated  eyes. 

Then  Jonas,  who  it  appeared,  was  the  only 
chantey  man  in  the  bunch,  piped  up: 

"Oh,  Shenandoah,  I  love  thy  waters !" 
And  the  crew  chimed  in,  led  by  Fletcher  in  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  49 

second  bass,  smooth  as  velvet,  and  deep  as  an 
organ  note: 

"Oh,  ho,  my  rolling  river !" 
The  Yankee  took  up  the  strain  again : 
"I  love  the  place  where  dwell  thy  daughters." 
The  thundering  chorus  came : 

"Oh,  ho,  I'm  bound  away 
On  the  broad  Missouri !" 

The  swing  and  rhythm  of  this  was  irresist 
ible,  and  the  brakes  worked  like  mad.  Up 
came  the  great  blanket  strip  from  the  rolling 
body  of  the  whale,  the  mates  spading  like 
demons  to  free  the  blubber  from  the  red  flesh. 
Haveron  called : 

"Two  blocks!" 

This  meant  the  blocks  of  the  tackle  had  come 
together,  so  the  second  one  was  overhauled, 
and  Joe  with  his  boarding  knife  made  another 
hole  in  the  blanket  the  level  of  the  rail,  and 
hooked  the  second  tackle  on.  Then  he  cut  the 
strip  across  it  so  it  freed  the  upper  one,  and — 

"Heave  and  surge!"  was  the  order. 

The  fall  tender  let  the  first  strip  surge  to  the 
deck  as  the  second  one  mounted  to  the  mast- 


50  There  She  Blows 

head,  while  we  continued  our  chantey.  Three 
men  were  taken  from  the  windlass,  and  two  of 
them,  armed  with  six-foot  spades,  started  to 
cut  the  blanket  strip  into  horse  pieces  for  the 
mincing  machine.  The  third  used  his  sheath 
knife  to  clear  the  red  meat  from  the  inside  of 
the  blubber  so  it  would  not  injure  the  quality 
of  the  oil. 

Working  with  vim  and  good  will,  as  we  all 
did  under  the  Old  Man's  eye,  we  soon  skinned 
that  whale's  carcase  down  to  the  small,  which, 
with  the  flukes,  we  heaved  bodily  in  on  deck. 
Those  formidable  flukes  reached  from  rail  to 
rail,  and  that  was  twenty-two  feet,  for  I  after 
ward  measured  it  myself.  After  this  the  head 
was  hauled  up  to  the  waist  again  and  split 
lengthwise  into  case  and  junk,  the  latter  being 
the  upper  part.  A  line  was  passed  around  it, 
the  cutting  tackle  hooked  on,  and  it  was  bowsed 
on  deck,  although  it  made  the  bark  heel  to  the 
wave  before  it  reached  there. 

"Now,"  said  Jonas,  who  was  next  me  on 
the  brake  beam,  "look  at  this  careful,  Ned,  and 
you'll  see  something  that  land  lubbers  would 
not  believe." 

This  is  what  happened;  the  gang  in  the 
waist  secured  that  "case,"  or  lower  jaw,  on 


A  Whaling  Yarn  51 

end,  and  so  the  point  was  in  the  water  and  the 
butt  on  a  level  with  the  rail.  Fayal  Joe 
mounted  it,  dug  in  a  bit  with  his  knife,  and  then 
took  a  narrow  pail  like  a  small  well-bucket 
from  Stoddard,  and  began  dipping  oil  out  of 
the  hole  he  had  made. 

'That's  pure  spermaceti,"  said  Jonas,  "and 
worth  about  three  dollars  a  gallon." 

I  counted  the  bucketsful  after  this,  and  Joe 
filled  it  one  hundred  and  fifty-seven  times ;  four 
gallons  to  the  bucket  was  six  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  gallons  of  spermaceti  out  of  the 
case.  There  is  less  than  this  in  the  junk,  but  it 
is  so  full  of  oil  you  can  squeeze  it  out  like  water 
from  a  full  sponge. 

While  I  was  digesting  these  facts  Morrison 
came  forward  and  beckoned  to  me.  When  I 
joined  him  he  said: 

"Stand  by  to  help  me  get  the  fires  started 
in  the  try  works." 

These  are  a  large  brick  furnace,  containing 
two  iron  kettles,  built  on  the  deck  abaft  the 
foremast,  leaving  a  four-foot  gangway  to  port 
and  starboard  to  get  by  it.  It  is  usually  cov 
ered  with  a  tarpaulin,  which  we  removed.  A 
large  copper  tank  stood  on  the  starboard  side 
into  which  the  cooked  oil  was  ladled  to  cool, 


52  There  She  Blows 

and  on  the  port  was  what  he  called  a  "scrap 
cooler."  While  he  was  starting  a  blaze  in  the 
firepits  he  told  me  to  bring  him  some  scraps, 
pointing  to  this  cooler.  I  lifted  the  cover  and 
found  it  filled  with  what  looked  like  a  lot  of 
mouldy,  greasy  dough  nuts.  They  turned  out 
to  be  the  crusts  of  the  horse  pieces  after  the 
oil  had  been  boiled  out,  and  made  a  fuel  of 
wonderful  quality,  possessing  almost  complete 
combustion,  and  giving  intense  heat.  Thus 
the  unfortunate  whale  provides  the  fuel  to  boil 
the  oil  out  of  his  blubber,  and  the  whaleman  is 
saved  a  serious  item  of  expense. 

The  fires  beginning  to  roar,  we  got  out  the 
mincing  machine,  and  lashed  it  handy  to  the 
port  pot.  This  is  like  an  old-fashioned  hay  cut 
ter  and  has  a  powerful  knife,  operated  by  a 
heavy  balance  wheel,  and  man  power,  which 
slices  the  horse  pieces — two  feet  long  by  one 
high — as  evenly  as  a  carver  cuts  ham,  only 
leaving  the  lower  edge  of  piece  untouched,  so 
it  all  hangs  together,  yet  can  be  boiled  com 
pletely  out.  The  men  at  work  on  the  blankets 
in  the  waist  began  to  have  a  store  of  horse 
pieces  by  this  time,  and  they  were  being  hauled 
and  shoved  over  to  us  with  gaffs  and  pikes. 
A  man  was  called  by  Morrison  to  turn  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  53 

wheel  of  the  machine.  As  the  minced  horse 
pieces  came  out  of  the  mouth  they  dropped  into 
a  tub  from  whence  Morrison  caught  them 
on  a  sort  of  a  pitch  fork,  and  flung  them  into 
the  pots;  and  then  the  fires  were  roaring,  the 
oil  sizzling  and  the  machine  whirring  at  the 
same  time. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  the  degree  of  slip- 
periness  and  greasiness  that  marked  our  decks. 
I  think  sperm  oil  must  be  the  best  lubricant 
known  to  man,  if  the  state  of  the  Avola  was 
anything  to  go  by.  I  am  sure-footed  as  a  cat, 
but  the  way  I  slipped  on  that  unaccustomed 
surface  made  it  dangerous — to  myself  and 
others — for  me  to  cross  the  deck.  I  was  re 
lieved  to  find  that  all  were  as  bad  as  myself, 
and  the  number  of  bruises  we  got  from  our 
falls  was  astonishing.  What  was  worse,  we 
cut  ourselves  frequently  on  the  spades  and 
knives  that  seemed  to  be  everywhere,  and  the 
raw  oil  made  nasty,  running  sores  that  were 
difficult  to  get  rid  of. 

It  had  been  all  hands  on  deck  so  far,  but  now 
that  the  whale  was  cut  in  and  his  blubber 
worked  into  horse  pieces  ready  for  the  mincer, 
the  press  of  work  was  over,  and  the  starboard 
watch  was  sent  below  after  dinner.  When  we 


54  There  She  Blows 

turned  to  again  at  the  first  dog  watch  at  four 
o'clock,  I  found  the  cooper,  "Bungs,"  he  was 
nicknamed,  hard  at  work  setting  up  casks.  We 
had  a  lot  of  shocks  and  hoop  iron  between 
decks,  and  whenever  there  was  "an  affair  of 
oil"  it  was  Bungs  to  the  front. 

As  both  watches  were  now  on  duty  again, 
the  decks  were  lippered  up;  the  oil  and  grease, 
and  small  bits  of  red  meat  that  had  been  cut 
from  the  blubber  were  gathered  as  thoroughly 
as  possible,  and  the  decks  given  a  hearty  sluic 
ing  down.  When  we  were  through,  it  looked 
less,  and  smelt  less,  like  a  dirty  slaughter  house 
than  it  had  done  previously.  We  did  not  shift 
our  oil  clothes — meaning  the  soaked  ones  we 
wore — until  the  remainder  of  the  blubber  was 
tried  out.  The  casks  containing  the  oil  were 
not  stowed  away  for  several  days,  for  it  was 
necessary  to  watch  and  test  them  until  danger 
of  leakage  was  past. 

I  had  now  seen  an  affair  of  oil  from  the 
start  to  the  finish,  and  began  to  feel,  rather  to 
the  derisive  amusement  of  Jonas,  like  an  old 
blubber  hunter.  I  must  confess  it  was  tough 
work  while  it  lasted,  and  that  I  felt  a  sense  of 
blessed  relief  when  it  was  over  and  we  had 
returned  to  our  regular  routine. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  55 

We  were  running  down  our  southing  now 
parallel  to  the  west  coast  of  Africa,  and  had  a 
good  deal  of  heavy  weather,  but  the  old  Avola 
turned  out  to  be  a  mighty  comfortable  sea  boat, 
and  I  did  not  mind,  except  that  I  found  stand 
ing  mast  head  in  a  gale  of  wind,  or  a  storm  of 
sleet  was  no  joke.  However,  I  had  discovered 
by  this  time  that  unpleasant  things  have  to  be 
endured,  and  that  if  you  can  summon  the  res 
olution  to  grin  at  them  you  are  doing  no  more 
than  most  of  your  mess  mates.  When  I  come 
to  think  of  it,  I  realise  I  learned  a  good  many 
lessons  on  that  cruise.  One  was  to  keep  your 
temper  under  difficulties,  and  to  never  stop 
trying. 

As  we  were  doubling  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
we  ran  into  the  heaviest  storm  we  had  encoun 
tered.  We  buffeted  it,  most  of  the  time  only 
under  a  rag  of  try  sail.  For  forty-eight  hours 
the  old  bark  weltered  along  well-nigh  under 
water.  In  fact,  the  decks  were  awash  and  life 
lines  were  rigged  to  prevent  us  being  swept 
over  the  rail.  During  this  period  the  cook  was 
unable  to  keep  a  fire  in  his  galley  stove,  and  our 
main  food  was  hard  tack.  It  was  at  this  time 
I  learned  a  hearty  man  can  relish,  and  even 
digest,  raw,  fat  salt  pork  on  a  pinch.  I  don't 


56  There  She  Blows 

suppose  I'd  care  much  for  it  to-day,  but  I  recall 
very  clearly  that  it  tasted  good  then,  and  so  far 
as  I  could  see,  it  did  not  disagree  with  me.  I 
certainly  was  pretty  well  occupied  those  three 
days,  and  did  not  give  my  digestive  apparatus 
much  thought. 

By  the  time  we  ran  through  that  gale  into 
fair  weather  in  the  Indian  ocean,  our  ship's 
company  was  pretty  shook  down.  We  had  not 
had  any  more  trouble  in  our  watch  in  the  fore 
castle,  anyhow,  since  that  first  scrap  over  the 
division  of  the  grub.  There  had  been  some 
slight  unpleasantness  at  first,  but  it  wore  ofT, 
and  the  dagoes  found  that  we  "white  men,"  as 
we  called  ourselves  in  contradistinction  to  them, 
were  not  bad  fellows  after  all,  if  they  did  not 
impose  on  us.  For  my  part  I  discovered  qual 
ities  in  the  Portuguese  make-up  that  I  had 
never  dreamed  of.  Of  course,  they  were  clan 
nish,  and  ignorant,  and  superstitious,  and 
bigoted.  But  when  you  had  gained  their  con 
fidence  it  was  yours  forever,  and  they  were  or 
dinarily  good  natured.  I  did  some  disgraceful 
lobbying  and  managed  to  elect  Jonas  captain 
of  the  forecastle.  He  made  an  ideal  one,  being 
full  of  tact  united  to  sound  judgment,  and  pos- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  57 

sessed  ability  to  enforce  his  authority  when 
questioned. 

The  Old  Man  could  not  of  course  descend 
very  far  from  his  quarter  deck  dignity,  but  he 
made  it  evident  to  me  that  my  conduct  had  his 
approval.  Tom  Morrison  and  I  had  almost 
become  chums.  Whenever  he  had  an  oppor 
tunity  to  include  me  in  his  task  he  did  so.  He 
was  a  zealous  teacher,  and  I  an  ardent  pupil, 
and  it  came  about  that  by  the  time  we  were 
four  months  out  I  had  become  so  proficient  in 
seamanship  that  I  had  little  to  learn  from  the 
oldest  sailor  forward,  and  could  readily  have 
rated  as  able  seaman.  Besides  all  this  I  was 
healthy  as  a  wild  duck,  and  had  not  a  single 
regret  for  the  easier  life  I  had  left  behind  in 
New  York. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

OUR  passage  across  the  Indian  ocean  was 
uneventful.  Being  near  the  equator  the 
weather  was  warm,  and  we  abandoned  the 
forecastle  as  a  place  of  residence,  using  it  only 
to  store  our  belongings.  I  took  my  mattress 
every  night  to  the  top  of  the  forward  house, 
the  little  uninclosed  shed  that  covered  the  try 
works.  Up  there  under  the  stars,  tasting  the 
fresh,  briny  breeze,  I  thought  of  how  I  used  to 
sleep  in  the  confinement  of  a  stuffy  room,  and 
wondered  at  the  restraints  of  a  higher  civiliza 
tion. 

In  all  this  time  we  did  not  sight  whales  but 
once,  and  they  were  far  away  and  "shoved 
junk"  out  of  sight  before  we  closed  in  on  them. 
The  Old  Man  said  they  were  wild  and  timid, 
and  acted  as  though  they  had  been  recently 
hunted.  There  was  really  no  work  to  do  except 
sail  the  vessel,  but  it  is  healthy  shipboard  rule 
to  keep  the  foremast  hands  busy,  and  the 
officers  displayed  a  surprising  ingenuity  in  de 
vising  tasks  to  "work  up  our  old  iron."  A 

58 


A  Whaling  Yarn  59 

quantity  of  ancient  tarred  hempen  cable  was 
disinterred  from  the  hold,  and  cut  into  five  or 
six-foot  lengths.  We  separated  these  into 
strands,  and  unlaid  the  rope-yarns.  Then 
Spinning  Jenny  was  set  up,  and  we  spun  in 
numerable  balls  of  marline,  which  were  care 
fully  stowed  away  in  the  sail  room  for  future 
emergencies.  Others  of  us  manufactured  the 
raw  material  into  sinnate,  three-ply  and  five- 
ply.  When  a  sufficient  store  was  accumulated, 
other  tasks,  even  less  essential,  were  sought  out 
for  us.  I  remember  spending  the  better  part 
of  a  week  scrubbing  and  polishing  that  copper 
oil  cooler  with  canvas  and  sand  until  I  finally 
brought  it  to  a  state  of  dazzling  and  entirely 
unnecessary  radiance.  At  the  last  we  actually 
got  up  the  chain  cables  from  the  lockers,  during 
a  tedious  calm,  ranged  them  neatly  on  deck  in 
the  waist,  and  pounded  the  rust  off  with  club 
hammers.  When  we  were  through,  it  took  us 
half  a  day  to  scrub  the  deck  clean  again. 

During  that  same  calm  I  had  an  adventure 
with  sharks  that  made  me  careful  ever  after 
about  bathing  from  a  ship  at  sea.  The  word 
had  been  passed  forward  that  during  the  sec 
ond  dog  watch  the  men  could  go  in  bathing.  It 
was  a  dead  calm,  and  a  man  was  kept  at  the 


60  There  She  Blows 

wheel  merely  for  form.  As  we  were  preparing 
for  the  plunge  Captain  Bourne  said  to  us : 

''There  may  be  sharks  around,  and  I  won't 
insure  your  legs." 

Then  he  called  to  Mr.  Fletcher,  who  was 
standing  lookout  at  the  main  masthead : 

"Keep  a  lookout  for  fins  close  in,  Mr. 
Fletcher.  I  can't  afford  to  lose .  any  of  the 
men." 

I  have  always  been  a  good  swimmer,  and 
found  the  rest  were  tyros  alongside  of  me,  so 
I  had  to  show  off.  It  was  nothing  for  me,  with 
my  gymnasium  experience,  to  run  up  the  rig 
ging,  out  on  the  top  gallant  yard  arm,  poise  a 
moment  in  mid  air  and  then  spring  far  out, 
coming  down  and  cleaving  the  water  head  first. 
It  took  them  all  aback,  and  I  had  the  after  gang 
at  the  rail  watching  and  clapping  their  hands, 
even  to  the  Old  Man. 

The  others  soon  had  enough,  and  came  out. 
I  took  one  last  dive  from  the  forward  rail,  and 
made  a  reach  out  from  the  ship's  side  of  ten  or 
twelve  rods.  As  I  turned  to  come  back  to  the 
Avola,  Fletcher  suddenly  sung  out  from  aloft : 

"Swim  hard,  Ned,  if  you  ever  did!  There's 
a  big  blue  shark  out  there,  and  I  think  he's  onto 
you." 


A  Whaling  Yarn  61 

I  heard  Fletcher's  warning  cry  plainly,  and 
it  sent  a  chill  to  my  heart.  As  I  involuntarily 
raised  my  body  in  the  water  to  see  where  the 
shark  was,  I  heard  the  Captain  roar : 

"Starboard  boat  away!" 

I  could  not  see  the  shark,  but  lost  no  time 
digging  out  at  a  racing  pace  toward  the  ship. 
I  could  see  the  starboard  boat  in  the  water, 
with  the  Old  Man  in  the  stern  handling  the 
steering  oar.  The  crew  was  made  up  of  naked 
men,  and  Tom  Morrison  himself  had  the  after 
oar.  It  did  not  seem  a  jiffy,  though  it  was  a 
pretty  anxious  one,  before  the  boat  and  I  were 
close  together,  and  then  the  Captain  threw  his 
hand  up  and  yelled  to  me  from  forty  feet  away : 

"Close  behind  you,  Ned!  Can  you  dodge 
him?" 

I  turned  in  the  water  and  saw  the  back  fin  of 
the  shark  cutting  the  wave  twenty  feet  away. 
I  was  scared  half  out  of  my  senses,  of  course, 
but  I  did  not  seem  to  act  more  slowly  on  ac 
count  of  the  fact.  I  remembered,  even  at  that 
paralysing  moment,  that  a  shark  has  to  turn 
on  his  back  to  seize  his  prey.  It  seemed  to  me 
he  was  on  the  point  of  doing  this,  but  I  sum 
moned  the  nerve  to  wait  the  hundredth  part 
of  a  second  to  make  sure,  for  I  felt  that  was 


62  There  She  Blows 

my  only  chance.  That  interval  could  only  have 
been  an  eye-wink,  but  it  seemed  an  eternity  of 
time,  and  the  upright  fin  moved  nearer.  Then, 
hurrah !  his  body  gave  a  twist — and  I  dived  out 
of  sight,  heading  to  the  boat,  actively  as  a 
porpoise. 

The  next  instant  I  rose  on  the  other  side,  and 
Morrison  had  my  arm  in  his  strong  grasp 
and  was  hauling  me  bodily  aboard.  While  I 
sat  breathless  on  the  thwart  beside  him,  I  saw 
the  baffled  shark  come  up  in  his  old  posture 
with  a  puzzled  air,  as  if  he  wondered  how  in 
the  deuce  I  had  managed  to  get  away. 

Sandalwood  Island  was  the  first  land  we 
sighted  since  leaving  New  Bedford,  except  the 
peak  of  Teneriffe.  It  was  most  refreshing  to 
my  eyes  to  see  the  waves  dashing  on  the  white 
beach,  and  the  cocoanut  groves,  the  trees  look 
ing  like  gigantic  feather  dusters  wrong  end  up, 
in  the  background.  We  coasted  along  about 
three  miles  away,  and  had  a  fine  view.  Now 
I  felt  that  we  were  really  in  the  South  Seas  of 
Oceanica,  that  fabled  region  of  romance  that 
had  always  excited  my  imagination. 

A  few  days  after  losing  sight  of  Sandalwood 
Island  we  came  into  that  maze  called  the  Zoo- 
loo  seas.  It  is  an  archipelago,  and  we  seemed 


A  Whaling  Yarn  63 

hardly  ever  to  get  out  of  sight  of  land.  If  one 
islet  went  hull  down,  another  reared  its  head, 
looking  much  like  the  last,  in  front  of  us.  It 
was  evident  we  were  not  cruising,  for  we 
steered  a  regular  course,  and  the  Old  Man  kept 
a  sharp  eye  on  the  after  cabin  telltale  to  see 
that  the  helmsman  held  the  Avola  on  it.  If  he 
got  dreamy  and  let  her  fall  off  a  few  points, 
Uncle  Zene  was  promptly  on  deck  and  inter 
viewed  him  to  his  discomfiture.  It  was  at  this 
time  Tom  Morrison  let  out  to  me  that  we  were 
bound  for  the  Port  of  Kema,  on  the  island  of 
Celebes,  to  refill  our  water  casks,  as  the  supply 
of  that  important  fluid  was  becoming  in  need  of 
replenishment.  He  had  been  there  before,  and 
told  me  no  white  people  lived  there  except  a 
Dutch  Resident  and  a  few  traders,  it  being 
under  the  rule  of  Holland.  It  was  merely  a 
native  village  on  an  open  roadstead.  The 
natives  were  a  nice  set  of  fellows,  and  we'd 
probably  have  a  liberty  day  ashore.  Shortly 
after  this  conversation,  a  plaintive,  long-drawn 
howl  came  down  from  the  man  at  the  fore 
masthead : 

"Land,  ho!" 

The  Captain,  who  was  pacing  the  weather 
quarter,  looked  up  and  observed  to  Mr.  Have- 


64  There  She  Blows 

ron,  who  leaned  against  the  taffrail,  cutting  a 
pipe-full  of  tobacco : 

"That's  the  hill  of  Tchiboula,  sir,  to  the  left 
of  our  anchorage  ground.  Brace  the  main 
yard  and  give  a  pull  on  the  halliards,  and  with 
this  breeze  we'll  sight  the  town  in  two  hours." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!'*  answered  the  mate.  Then 
in  a  sharper  tone:  "Lay  aft  here,  and  brace 
the  main  yard !" 

The  willing  men  sprang  to  the  braces,  and  to 
the  cheerful  "Make  a  noise  there!"  of  the  Old 
Man,  started  a  lively  chantey  and  braced  the 
yards  sharp  to  the  wind. 

"Main  tops'l  halliards !"  was  the  next  order, 
and  soon  we  had  every  sail  flat  as  a  board  and 
had  shaken  a  knot  or  two  out  of  the  old  Avola. 

Before  the  two  hours  were  up  we  were  close 
enough  to  see  the  houses  of  the  beautiful  little 
village.  It  lay  nestled  among  the  trees  at  the 
base  of  the  hill,  and  looked  as  peaceful  a  sanc 
tuary  as  ever  mortal  gazed  upon.  We  had  no 
time  to  grow  sentimental  over  it  for  the  mate's 
voice  growled : 

"Off  with  the  main  hatch  here !  Jump  down 
in  the  hold  one  of  you  and  pass  up  the  end  of 
the  cable.  Look  alive,  lads !" 

Shortly  the  cable  was  ranged,  the  anchor 


A  Whaling  Yarn  65 

gotten  off  the  bow,  and  the  mate  reported 
respectfully  to  that  mighty  potentate,  the  Old 
Man: 

"All  ready  to  let  go,  sir!" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  returned  he  with  quarter 
deck  politeness,  taking  command  himself: 
"Stand  by  the  foresail,  the  larboard  watch! 
Mainsail  here  the  rest  of  you.  Let  go  the 
to'gallant  sheets !  Clewlines  and  buntlines 
haul!  Let  go  to'gallant  halliards!  Clew  'em 
up,  my  lads!  Now  your  foretops'l  sheets! 
Main  tops'l  sheets!  Hard  down  your  wheel! 
Let  go  the  anchor !" 

Plunge!  went  the  starboard  bower,  rattling 
twenty  fathom  of  chain  cable  along  with  it. 
The  Avola  swung  sluggishly  around  head  to 
the  wind,  and  we  lay  at  anchor  in  Kema  road 
stead.  A  fleet  of  canoes  had  put  off  from  the 
shore  and  swarmed  around  the  ship.  Each 
tiny  craft  held  one  or  more  bright-eyed,  dusky- 
hued,  gesticulating,  grinning  natives,  and  by 
the  time  we  had  the  sails  stowed  they  were 
all  on  board.  Each  was  bent  on — according 
to  a  tradition  I  had  read  of  in  Captain  Cook's 
Voyages,  but  had  never  hoped  to  see  realised — 
selecting  a  congenial  spirit  among  the  crew,  to 
whom  the  guileless  savage  devoted  himself,  de- 


66  There  She  Blows 

claring  the  chosen  one  to  be  the  friend  of  his 
heart,  and  soul-brother  to  all  eternity. 
Thenceforth  until  the  ship  should  leave,  this 
gentle,  brown-skinned  brother  attached  himself 
to  the  service  of  his  newly-made  friend.  He 
lets  no  day  pass  without  coining  off  at  least  once 
to  feast  his  eyes  upon  him,  and  fares  out  each 
time  full-handed  with  all  the  delicious  tropical 
fruits  of  the  country,  and  even  cooked  deli 
cacies  if  these  pall. 

A  young  Apollo  with  eager,  merry  smile 
made  overtures  to  me  with  a  bunch  of  fruit, 
and  I  closed  an  immediate  compact  of  frater 
nity  with  him.  He  was  so  winning  in  speech 
and  mien  that  I  was  almost  as  fervent  as  he  in 
protestations  of  devotion.  His  costume  was 
airy  though  picturesque,  and  admirably 
adapted  to  the  climate.  It  consisted  of  a  sin 
gle  piece  of  figured  cotton  print,  about  twro 
yards  long  by  one  wide,  wrapped  about  his 
loins.  The  rest  of  his  handsome,  bronze  body 
was  bare.  When  we  had  concluded  our  mutual 
vows  he  leapt  over  the  bulwark,  going  down 
the  side  of  the  ship  like  a  cat  to  his  canoe,  and 
passed  up  a  magnificent  bunch  of  bananas. 
Not  the  clumsy,  thick-skinned  plantains  we 
see  in  temperate  climes,  but  the  real  Chinese 


A  Whaling  Yarn  67 

sugar  banana,  small,  beautiful  in  form,  with 
rounded  curves,  a  thin  skin,  and  a  flavor !  del 
icate,  insinuating,  luscious!  melting  on  the 
tongue,  enchanting  the  palate.  And  even  this 
divine  fruit  was  not  half  the  sum  of  what  my 
Nikolas — this  was  his  name — laid  at  my  feet. 
Oranges,  cocoanuts,  mummy  apples,  mango- 
steens,  and  even  palm  toddy  had  he  brought  off 
in  such  profusion  that  the  quantity  threatened 
to  overflow  my  bunk. 

Our  newly  found  brothers  remained  aboard 
until  nightfall.  Before  we  turned  in  the  word 
was  passed  forward  the  starboard  watch  were 
to  prepare  for  liberty  the  following  morning. 
There  was  a  grand  overhauling  of  donkeys, 
and  the  contents  of  mine  were  brought  out, 
and  viewed  with  a  critical  eye.  When  I  got 
through  inspection  I  decided  the  best  suit  I 
possessed  was  on  my  back.  It  consisted  of  an 
oil-stained  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  weather-beaten 
drawers  very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  so 
patched  with  canvas  that  only  close  observation 
enabled  one  to  determine  that  flannel  was  the 
fundamental  material.  I  bought  a  good-sized 
piece  of  white  duck  from  Big  Anton  for  a  plug 
of  tobacco,  with  which  I  was  better  supplied 
than  apparel,  and  sitting  under  bare  poles,  ap- 


68  There  She  Blows 

plied  a  workmanlike  patch  across  the  seat  of  the 
dilapidated  garment.  Then  I  donned  them  in 
serene  consciousness  that  I  was  fit  to  go  ashore 
in  any  village  in  the  archipelago. 

The  sun  came  sliding  up  from  the  edge  of  the 
sea  the  next  morning  bright  and  clear  and 
looked  down  on  the  starboard  watch — out  since 
the  first  streak  of  dawn — prinking  preparatory 
to  the  descent  on  the  village.  Water,  fresh 
water,  a  luxury  on  a  whale  ship,  was  dealt  out 
in  unheard  profusion,  a  pint  to  each  member 
of  the  go-ashore  gang!  Jonas  and  I  united 
our  supply,  and  tossed  up  to  see  who  should 
wash  his  face  first.  Not  until  this  function 
was  performed  did  we  utilise  the  fluid  for  the 
other  portions  of  our  bodies.  The  ceremony 
was  completed  by  sluicing  ourselves  down  with 
buckets  of  salt  water  drawn  from  over  the 
side.  You  see,  salt  water,  however  pleasant 
to  bathe  in,  is  useless  to  cleanse.  As  I  was 
giving  myself  the  last  rub  with  the  piece  of 
old  canvas  that  did  duty  as  a  towel  Nikolas  ap 
peared,  and  learning  to  his  delight  that  I  was 
bound  ashore,  volunteered  to  convey  me  thither 
in  his  canoe,  declaring  I  was  his  guest  for  the 
day. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  69 

The  island  of  Celebes  which  I  was  going  to 
visit  is  little  known  to  the  world  at  large.  It 
lies  between  Borneo  and  New  Guinea,  but  is 
smaller  than  either.  Unlike  them  it  abounds 
in  grassy  plains  free  from  forests  which  fur 
nish  abundant  pasture,  and  wild  game  is  plenti 
ful.  The  plains  are  the  common  property  of 
the  tribes  that  live  on  them,  and  intrusion  from 
aliens  is  jealously  guarded  against.  The  tiger 
and  leopard,  though  found  in  other  parts  of  the 
archipelago,  are  curiously  enough  unknown  in 
Celebes.  Horses  are  numerous,  and  though 
small  possess  unusual  strength,  spirit,  and  en 
durance.  Their  spirited  heads  and  clean  limbs 
seem  to  denote  their  descent  from  some 
thoroughbred  strain  of  blood. 

Rice,  maize,  cotton,  cassava,  and  tobacco  are 
the  chief  products  of  the  soil ;  the  exports,  which 
at  that  time  were  principally  to  China,  included 
birds'  nests — the  edible  kind — tripang,  sharks' 
fins,  and  tortoise  shell.  Gold  is  not  unusual 
in  the  beds  of  the  streams,  but  has  not  been 
found  in  great  abundance.  The  population  of 
the  island  was  estimated  at  two  millions  and 
consists  of  two  principal  races :  the  Haraforas, 
who  inhabit  the  interior  and  the  Bugis,  who 


70  There  She  Blows 

live  principally  on  the  coast.  These  latter 
manufacture  a  cloth  celebrated  among  the 
other  islands  for  durability  and  fineness. 

The  form  of  government  is  in  most  cases  a 
limited  monarchy,  in  which  the  sovereign  is 
controlled  by  the  subordinate  chiefs,  and  oc 
casionally  they  again  by  the  people.  Women 
are  eligible  to  the  throne,  and  take  an  active 
part  in  political  affairs.  This  fact  is  note 
worthy  for  Mohammedanism  is  the  prevailing 
religion. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

\TIKOLAS  placed  me  in  the  bow  of  his 
^  cranky  craft,  and  telling  me — not  exactly 
in  those  words — to  try  and  preserve  my  center 
of  gravity,  he  took  his  place  in  the  stern  and 
bent  to  his  work.  His  dexterity  was  marvel 
lous,  and  we  fairly  flew.  A  few  minutes 
brought  us  to  the  shore.  The  starboard  boat 
with  the  rest  of  the  liberty  men,  left  the  ship's 
side  at  the  same  time  we  did,  and  as  we  were 
not  a  whale  they  did  not  exert  themselves  to 
keep  up.  I  waited  on  the  shore  to  find  out  the 
programme  of  the  day.  Of  course,  sailor-like, 
the  first  and  main  idea  was  to  get  drunk,  that  is 
with  most  of  them.  Two  or  three  made  an  en 
gagement  to  meet  in  the  market  place,  and  if 
their  sheets  weren't  fluttering  too  much,  take  a 
ride  on  horseback.  Nikolas  said  that  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  getting  steeds,  and  whis 
pered  to  me  privately  in  his  broken  English  that 
I  could  ride  his  horse  as  much  as  I  wished  free 
of  cost,  because  of  his  exceeding  great  love  for 
me.  Then  he  and  I  walked  along  the  main 


72  There  She  Blows 

street  of  the  village.  It  was  a  long  esplanade 
lined  on  either  side  with  magnificent  trees.  The 
houses  were  built  well  back  from  the  roadside, 
and  without  exception  had  large  flower  gar 
dens  in  front.  The  dwellings  were  spacious, 
and  covered  a  large  area  but  were  only  one 
story  in  height.  To  my  eyes  they  were  rather 
conspicuously  painted.  Orange  seemed  a  fa 
vorite  color  though  you  could  find  every  hue 
in  the  rainbow.  Some  of  the  larger  residences 
were  really  attractive  and  kept  with  unex 
pected  trimness.  Ten  minutes  walk  brought 
us  to  the  market  place.  Long  before  we  ar 
rived  we  could  hear  the  hum  and  buzz  of  the 
crowd  of  natives.  There  was  a  clamor  which 
rivalled  the  stock  and  cotton  exchanges  rolled 
into  one.  It  was  unlawful  to  buy  and  sell  any 
where  except  in  this  place,  Nikolas  said,  and 
the  traders  had  to  pay  a  high  price  for  the 
privilege  of  putting  up  and  operating  a  stand 
in  it — sometimes  the  enormous  sum  of  two 
dollars  a  year ! 

I  had  found  out  by  this  time  that  my  brother 
Nikolas  was  a  man  of  consequence  in  his  com 
munity.  In  point  of  fact  he  was  the  local 
native  school  teacher,  and  drew  an  absurd  sal 
ary  of  something  like  forty  dollars  per  annum 


A  Whaling  Yarn  73 

from  the  Dutch  government  for  his  profes 
sional  services.  He  now  proposed  to  exhibit 
his  school  to  me,  and  told  me  on  the  way,  he 
had  procured  a  substitute  to  attend  to  his  duties 
during  my  stay  in  port.  The  school  edifice 
turned  out  to  be  the  only  two-storied  building 
in  Kema.  The  classes  were  reciting  as  we  en 
tered.  The  pupils  were  few  of  them  more  than 
seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  and  of  extraor 
dinary  precocity  in  body  and  mind.  A  brighter, 
prettier  set  of  children  are  seldom  seen  than 
they  were,  though  I  must  confess  they  smelt 
rather  strongly  of  the  cocoanut  oil  with  which 
their  bodies  and  hair  appeared  to  be  freely 
smeared.  Otherwise  each  one  was  clean  as  a 
new  button.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out, 
for  the  language  was  literally  Dutch  to  me, 
they  were  reciting  a  spelling  lesson,  or  one  in 
arithmetic.  It  called  up  memories  of  the  time 
when  I  was  a  country  school  boy,  and  drawled 
in  sing-song  nasal  tone,  with  the  rest  of  the 
class: 

"Two  times  one  are  two ;  two  times  two  are 
four;  two  times  three  are  six;"  or  "G-e,  ge,  o, 
geo;  g-r-a-,  geogra ;  p-h-y,  fy,  geography!" 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  lesson  Nikolas  had 
them  sing,  and  they  all  arose  and  warbled  sev- 


74  There  She  Blows 

eral  of  the  old,  familiar  Methodist  hymn  times 
of  my  childhood,  set  to  Malay  words.  It  made 
me  choke  a  little  to  hear  these  unforgotten 
strains  rising  up  in  this  out  of  the  way,  and  al 
most  barbarous  place.  It  brought  back  the  old 
meetin'  house  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  school 
house  during  the  week  days.  Then  the  voice 
of  Nikolas  was  again  in  my  ear.  He  said : 

"Now,  s'pose  you  want,  Ned,  me  take  you 
along  to  home  belong  to  me.  S'pose  there, 
you  want  drink,  me  give  drink.  S'pose  you 
want  smoke,  me  give.  My  sister  make  dinner 
in  two  hour." 

I  went  with  him.  He  lived  in  a  neat  house 
on  the  main  street.  It  was  thirty  feet  back 
from  the  road  and  the  front  part  of  the  yard 
was  a  flower  bed  of  indescribable  gorgeous- 
ness.  As  we  entered  the  house  my  nostrils 
were  greeted  by  the  most  delicious  scent  they 
had  ever  known.  I  asked  my  brown  brother 
what  it  was,  and  he  pointed  out  several  bushes 
to  me.  They  were  from  eight  to  ten  feet  high, 
with  green  foliage  interspersed  with  bunches 
of  beautiful  white  flowers,  and  dark  purple 
berries.  This,  he  explained,  was  the  coffee 
bush,  and  he  would  directly  give  me  some  coffee 
made  from  its  beans. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  75 

At  this  moment  two  charming  brown- 
skinned  maidens,  one  about  fifteen  and  the 
other  perhaps  a  year  older,  appeared  from  the 
interior,  and  I  was  introduced  to  Nikolas'  sis 
ters.  Unfortunately  they  had  not  a  word  of 
English,  but  I  made  them  comprehend  I  loved 
their  brother,  and  desired  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  them.  They  were  delightful  crea 
tures,  although  only  half-civilized  Malay  girls. 
The  eldest  was  a  large,  well  developed,  bloom 
ing  Hebe,  while  the  younger  was  an  arch,  slen 
der  sprite  who  turned  everything  into  fun. 
But  I  must  not  linger  over  them.  Enough  to 
say  they  gave  me  a  mighty  good  dinner  of 
which  I  would  be  puzzled  to  name  the  ingre 
dients,  and  at  the  close  of  the  meal  a  cup  of 
coffee  whose  equal  I  never  drank. 

While  I  was  lighting  the  cigar  one  of  the 
girls  rolled  me  I  heard  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and 
there  was  my  brother  in  front  of  the  gate 
mounted  on  as  pretty  a  pony-built  horse  as  I 
ever  laid  eyes  on.  I  was  out  in  a  moment  ex 
amining  every  point  of  the  little  beauty.  He 
was  caparisoned  with  an  English  saddle  and 
bridle,  and  his  hide  and  hair  were  soft  and 
silky  as  if  he  had  come  from  under  the  hands 
of  an  accomplished  groom.  He  did  not  seem 


76  There  She  Blows 

to  mind  my  two  hundred  pounds  in  the  least- 
he  even  pranced  under  the  weight.  Nikolas 
ran  alongside,  and  I  set  off  down  the  street  to 
the  market  place.  The  animal  had  a  long,  even 
pace  that  rolled  as  easily  and  gradually  from 
one  side  to  the  other  as  a  rocking  chair.  We 
soon  came  to  where  Tom  Morrison,  Bungs  the 
cooper,  and  Big  Anton  were  gathered  to  meet 
me. 

All  three  were  considerably  over  the  bay, 
having  wit  enough  left  to  be  full  of  Old  Nick, 
and  stick  like  grim  death  to  their  mounts. 
None  of  them  knew  how  to  ride,  and  I  saw  a 
catastrophe  was  imminent,  but  the  ponies  were 
so  small,  a  poor  rider  had  not  far  to  go,  and 
sailors  are  proverbially  tough,  so  I  gave  no 
warnings,  and  we  started  in  a  mad  gallop  up 
the  street. 

Big  Anton  was  the  first  to  come  to  grief. 
After  growing  somewhat  used  to  the  motion 
of  his  craft  his  confidence  begot  carelessness, 
and  he  allowed  for  a  weather  instead  of  a  lee 
roll,  which  brought  his  line  of  preponderance 
outside  his  center  of  gravity.  When  he  found 
his  seat  precarious  he  dropped  his  bridle,  and 
clasped  his  saddle  more  closely  than  ever  with 
legs  and  hands.  This  hastened  his  discom- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  77 

fiture  as  his  girths  were  loose.  The  saddle 
turned  and  Anton  stood  on  his  head.  The 
horse  stopped  when  it  realised  something  was 
amiss,  and  the  victim  picked  himself  up  amid 
our  roars  in  no  wise  the  worse  for  his  mishap, 
save  that  the  crown  of  his  hat  was  crushed  out 
of  shape. 

"Jesu  Maria !"  he  exclaimed,  and  lapsed  into 
a  state  of  solemn  wonder. 

This  was  only  the  beginning.  I  noticed 
Bungs  had  his  enormous  feet  shoved  through 
his  stirrups,  which  in  the  way  he  utilised 
them  resembled  a  pair  of  barbaric  anklets.  I 
was  on  the  point  of  warning  him  he  had  better 
take  his  feet  out  when  up  came  Tom  Mor 
rison  in  a  mad  dash.  Bungs'  pony  gave  a 
sidelong  jump,  and  the  cooper,  who  had 
succeeded  in  getting  his  foot  out  of  the 
starboard  stirrup,  described  a  sudden  par 
abolic  curve  in  the  air,  the  length  of  which 
would  have  been  greater  had  it  not  been  circum 
scribed  by  the  hold  the  other  stirrup  had. 

I  got  the  steed  by  the  head  and  stopped 
him  as  he  was  bolting,  while  Tom  extri 
cated  the  spluttering  cooper  from  his  predica 
ment.  By  the  time  we  returned  from  our 
ride  each,  with  me  as  the  honorable  exception, 


78  There  She  Blows 

had  several  falls,  and  my  shipmates  decided 
that  riding  was  not  half  so  much  of  an  amuse 
ment  as  it  looked  to  those  who  had  not  tried  it. 

Our  liberty  did  not  expire  until  daybreak  the 
next  morning,  at  which  time  we  \vere  expected 
to  be  on  board.  The  sailors  had  found  a  sort 
of  boozing  ken  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village, 
where  I  was  informed  with  much  exultation 
they  could  purchase  square-faced  Hollands 
gin  in  unlimited  quantities  for  the  equivalent 
of  forty  cents  a  bottle.  This  was  a  fortuitous 
opportunity  not  to  be  neglected  by  sea-faring 
men,  and  they  embraced  it  with  ardor.  My 
brother  Nikolas  who  had  come  by  this  time  to 
regard  me  as  one  apart  from  the  average  fore 
mast  hand,  told  me  frankly  I  had  better  re 
main  with  him  instead  of  joining  the  revellers. 
I  confirmed  his  confidence  by  pledging  myself 
to  return  to  his  house  to  spend  the  evening,  and 
he  agreed  to  ferry  me  to  the  Avola  in  his  canoe 
before  midnight.  He  invited  me  to  call  with 
him  on  the  Dutch  Resident,  but  I  decided  my 
costume  left  something  in  the  way  of  adequacy 
to  be  desired  when  it  came  to  making  cere 
monious  calls,  and  declined. 

My  decision  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  with 
Nikolas  and  his  sisters — and  a  very  pleasant 


A  Whaling  Yarn  79 

one  it  proved — was  more  than  justified  the 
next  morning  when  the  liberty  gang  returned 
to  the  ship.  They  had  a  lively  time  which 
wound  up  in  a  row  with  the  natives.  A  Por 
tuguese  called  Madeira  had  been  struck  be 
tween  the  shoulders  by  a  green  cocoanut 
hurled  at  him  by  an  indignant  Bugis.  I 
was  unacquainted  with  the  cocoanut  in  the 
character  of  a  missle  up  to  this  time,  but  it 
certainly  was  a  thing  to  fight  shy  of  judging 
by  its  effects  in  this  case.  It  had  nearly  broken 
his  spine,  and  thrown  both  his  shoulders  out  of 
commission.  The  others  said  but  for  the  gal 
lantry  of  Tom  Morrison  and  Jonas,  who  had 
charged  the  mob  of  warlike  natives  and  by  des 
perate  fighting  succeeded  in  routing  them, 
Madeira  never  would  have  been  able  to  leave 
the  field  of  battle. 

Nikolas  made  his  appearance  soon  after  the 
watch  came  aboard,  and  told  me  Madeira  had 
made  overtures  to  the  villager's  womenfolk 
and  the  natives  were  considerably  exercised 
over  the  occurrence.  In  consequence  of  this 
happening  the  Old  Man  decided  not  to  give 
the  port  watch  liberty  as  he  had  intended,  for 
fear  of  further  complications.  When  the  con 
sequences  of  his  indiscretion  were  found  to  be 


8o  There  She  Blows 

so  far-reaching,  it  made  Madeira  unpopular 
with  the  disappointed  men,  and  one  of  them 
gave  him  a  sound  thrashing  as  soon  as  he  had 
sufficiently  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 
cocoanut  to  stand  it.  That,  as  they  say  in 
diplomatic  circles,  closed  the  incident. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  get  our  water  casks 
filled.  We  towed  them  to  the  mouth  of  a 
stream  a  mile  above  the  village.  It  was  down 
right  hard  work,  but  it  was  all  day  on  deck  for 
both  watches,  and  sleep  all  night.  Before  we 
pulled  up  the  mud  hook  the  captain  purchased 
five  hundred  green  cocoanuts,  and  fifty 
bunches  of  bananas  for  general  use  at  sea  as 
long  as  they  lasted.  He  told  me  the  whole 
quantity  cost  about  five  dollars  American 
money,  and  it  was  desirable  for  sanitary  rea 
sons  to  give  all  hands  a  good  scouring  out  after 
their  long  regimen  of  salt  diet.  And,  by  the 
way,  did  you  ever  eat  one  of  these  green  nuts? 
You  split  it  open  with  a  hatchet  after  drinking 
the  juice.  The  white  meat  is  half-formed,  and 
the  consistency  of  custard.  You  eat  it  with  a 
spoon,  and  it's  good. 

Of  course  my  brother  Nikolas,  who  had 
stuck  to  me  closer  than  wax  during  our  whole 
stay,  was  with  me  when  we  got  our  anchor 


A  Whaling  Yarn  81 

apeak.  By  shrewd  dickering  and  the  sacrifice 
of  a  large  share  of  my  store  of  tobacco,  I  had 
managed  to  get  in  the  way  of  barter  from  some 
of  the  opulent  Portuguese  a  Havre  red  flannel 
shirt  of  good  quality,  and  a  gorgeous  Roman 
silk  tie.  To  these  I  added  a  much  bullioned 
yachting  cap  I  had  in  my  donkey — I  was 
ashamed  to  wear  it — and  laid  them  in  my 
brother's  lap  the  last  sad  morning  when  we 
bade  each  other  farewell.  The  tears  were  in 
his  eyes  at  the  munificence  of  the  offering,  and 
in  mine  at  its  inadequacy.  Then  we  embraced 
in  haste,  but  fervently,  and  parted.  I  never 
think  of  him  to  this  day  without  my  heart  grow 
ing  warm. 

Our  course  lay  to  the  northward  towards  the 
Philippines  after  leaving  Kema,  and  I  heard 
from  aft  that  we  were  now  on  what  was  con 
sidered  good  sperm  whaling  grounds.  Indeed, 
the  fact  was  plainly  evident  in  the  changed  de 
meanor  of  the  Old  Man  and  the  officers.  Cap 
tain  Bourne  spent  most  of  his  time  on  deck,  and 
he  paced  the  quarter  like  a  lonely  wildcat  in  a 
cage.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  pause  in 
his  swift  walk,  go  to  the  rail  and  sniff  the 
wind.  Morrison  said  as  we  watched  him  do 
this: 


82  There  She  Blows 

"The  Old  Man  thinks  he  can  smell  'em,  and 
I  believe  he  can !" 

One  day  a  sail  was  reported  from  the  mast 
head,  and  in  a  couple  of  hours  we  drew  close  to 
it  and  saw  it  was  a  British  whaler,  from  Syd 
ney  probably,  the  captain  affirmed,  under  easy 
canvas  and  cruising  like  ourselves.  Later  on 
the  Lime-juicer  cleared  away  his  boat  and 
came  to  pay  the  Avola  a  visit,  "gam"  they  call 
it  in  whaling  parlance.  When  they  arrived 
Mr.  Haveron  took  his  boat's  crew  and  de 
parted  to  the  Martha,  that  turning  out  to  be 
her  name.  This  is  whaling  etiquette. 

The  new-comer  was  Captain  Tugwell,  Eng 
lish  to  the  back-bone,  and  in  the  whaling  service 
all  his  life  out  of  Scotland  first,  and  later 
Sydney,  New  South  Wales.  It  had  struck  four 
bells  in  the  morning  watch — ten  o'clock,  shore 
time — and  the  wind  had  fallen  away  till  there 
was  scarcely  steerage  way.  Stoddard  the  sec 
ond  mate,  and  Fayal  Joe  stood  at  the  main 
masthead  sweeping  the  surrounding  waters 
with  their  binoculars.  The  fierce  tropical  sun 
melted  the  pitch  between  the  deck  planks,  and 
made  the  tar  on  the  shrouds  and  swifters 
blister. 

The  two  captains  paced  the  quarter  deck. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  83 

The  Briton  was  tall,  bearded  and  muscular ;  old 
uncle  Zene,  under-sized,  sinewy,  and  clean 
shaven.  He  made  two  steps  to  Captain  Tug- 
well's  one.  They  resembled  a  bull  and  a 
panther  caged  together.  The  restless  manner 
in  which  they  prowled  back  and  forth  sug 
gested  confined  wild  animals.  Now  and  then 
the  American  master  went  to  the  side,  and 
sniffed  the  air  with  a  curiously  alert  expression 
on  his  face.  He  seemed  to  scent  prey.  The 
stalwart  Englishman  watched  him  with  intel 
ligent  eyes,  and  a  certain  air  of  expectancy. 

After  one  of  these  trips  to  the  rail  our  Old 
Man  called  out  in  his  curt,  decisive  voice : 

"Pass  the  word  to  Mr.  Morrison  to  come 
aft." 

The  fourth  mate  popped  up  like  a  jack-in- 
the-box. 

"Tom,"  said  Captain  Bourne,  meeting  him 
at  the  fife  rail,  and  speaking  so  Tugwell  did 
not  hear:  "Get  the  starboard  boat  in  the 
water  and  stand  by  with  the  crew.  I  smell 
whales,  and  this  Lime-juicer  shall  not  get  away 
first  if  they're  raised,  for  I'm  going  to  lower 
myself." 

Tom,  who  was  of  course  the  Old  Man's 
boatsteerer  in  this  case,  met  his  eye  with  per- 


84  There  She  Blows 

feet  understanding  and  his  soul  was  full  of  joy, 
but  he  only  answered  quietly : 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

Uncle  Zene  returned  to  his  guest  while  Tom 
swung  himself  by  the  swifter  to  the  starboard 
roof  of  the  after  house. 

"Lay  aft  here,  Long  Island  Ned!"  he  called. 

I  dropped  my  scrub  rag,  and  got  there  quick. 
Morrison  wasted  no  time  in  words.  Together 
we  lifted  the  two  tubs  containing  the  coiled 
whale  line  into  the  boat,  which  swung  outward 
from  the  davits.  His  few  hasty  sentences  had 
put  me  on,  and  I  seized  the  water  keg  and 
dropped  to  deck;  I  now  kept  my  bread  sack 
filled  in  case  of  sudden  emergency.  By  the 
time  he  had  got  his  harpoons  and  lances  stowed 
in  their  cleats  in  the  boat  I  was  back. 

"Stand  by  the  starboard  falls!"  sung  out 
Tom. 

The  three  other  men  of  our  crew — Jonas, 
and  two  Portuguese — were  old  whalemen, 
sturdy  fellows,  and  especially  good  oarsmen. 
They  had  been  watching  Morrison  and  me  with 
lively  interest.  As  they  got  the  word,  they 
bounded  aft,  and  in  a  twinkle  were  at  the  falls. 

"Lower  away!"  said  the  fourth  mate.  He 
and  I  stepped  in  the  boat  as  it  fell  toward  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  85 

water.  When  it  met  the  wave  Tom  deftly  un 
hooked  the  bow  tackle,  and  I  did  the  same  by 
the  one  at  the  after  thwart. 

"Stand  by  to  take  the  short  warp!"  called 
the  officer. 

It  shot  from  his  hand  and  was  caught  by 
Joe  Wing,  who  pulled  the  midship  oar.  He 
had  been  rechristened  after  an  outfitter  in  New 
Bedford  by  Morrison  because  his  Portuguese 
name  was  cumbrous  to  the  tongue.  The  boat 
ranged  alongside,  and  the  fourth  mate  leaped 
into  the  chains.  As  he  scrambled  up,  he  said : 

"Stay  with  her,  Ned." 

Morrison  walked  quietly  forward  again.  He 
spoke  briefly  to  Jonas,  who  passed  the  word 
to  Joe  Wing  and  Manuel,  the  midship  and  bow 
oars,  and  all  three  lounged  around  the  break  of 
the  try  works,  alert  as  ferrets.  Morrison  him 
self  pulled  the  harpooner  oar  when  the  Captain 
lowered,  and  I  was  at  the  after  oar,  and  a  good 
one,  if  I  say  it  myself ;  and  there  you  have  our 
crew. 

Captain  Tugwell  had  an  eye  like  a  hawk,  and 
he  observed  these  significant  preparations  with 
a  complacent  grin.  He  rested  easy  in  the 
knowledge — as  I  heard  after — of  the  possession 
of  the  strongest  boat  crew  out  of  Sydney,  and 


86  There  She  Blows 

although  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  purpose 
of  the  master  of  the  Avola  he  did  not  doubt 
that  if  the  two  boats  started  anywhere  near  on 
even  terms,  his  would  reach  the  whales  first. 
The  next  moment  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  sud 
den  commotion  on  the  Martha,  half  a  mile  to 
leeward. 

Then  both  skippers  straightened  and  grew 
rigid,  while  a  sonorous  voice  came  down  from 
the  main  royal  slings : 

"Thar  she  blows!  thar  she  blows!  thar  she 
blows !  thar  she  white  waters !" 

Captain  Bourne's  voice  cut  the  air  like  a  fife, 
as  he  threw  back  his  head  to  gaze  aloft,  but 
though  it  made  the  blood  tingle  in  the  veins  of 
every  man  in  hearing,  it  was  steady  and  con 
trolled  : 

"What  do  you  make  of  them  spouts,  Mr. 
Stoddard?  And  how  do  they  bear?" 

"Sperm  whale,  sir!  Three  points  off  the  lee 
bow.  About  two  miles  off!  It's  another  big, 
lone  bull  breaching,  sir !" 

"Aye,  aye.  Lay  down  from  aloft,  sir !  Ship- 
keepers  stand  by !  Lower  away !" 

At  the  first  hail  Captain  Tugwell's  crew  of 
brawny  beef  eaters,  all  old  whalemen,  had 
streamed  aft  and  entered  their  craft,  which  lay 


A  Whaling  Yarn  87 

ahead  of  our  starboard  boat,  which  I  held  close 
under  the  chains.  Tugwell,  like  a  gallant  fel 
low,  hesitated  between  his  sense  of  fairness  and 
his  keenness  to  get  away,  and  he  and  Uncle 
Zene  leaped  over  the  side  at  the  same  instant. 
Our  boat  crew  seemed  to  occupy  their  places  by 
magic,  and  as  each  skipper  grasped  the  handle 
of  his  steering  oar,  Tugwell  called  to  Bourne : 

"It's  a  fair  start,  sir !  I'll  give  you  a  dinner 
if  I  don't  make  fast  first!" 

"Same  here!"  returned  the  undaunted  Old 
Man. 

The  oar  blades  dipped,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  ship  suddenly  shot  away  from  us.  The 
whale  lay  ahead  at  the  apex  of  a  triangle  of 
which  the  other  two  points  were  the  Avola  and 
the  Martha. 

So  the  struggle  —  an  international  whale- 
chase — had  begun. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

FOR  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  or  so 
the  Americans  and  Britons  have  been  try 
ing  each  other's  mettle  in  various  ways,  and 
here  was  as  pretty  a  contest  of  nerve  and  muscle 
as  ever  occurred  between  them.  Both  of  us 
were  crack  crews.  The  boats  were  the  same 
model,  and  within  five  pounds  of  equal  weight. 
The  English  sailors,  man  by  man,  appeared 
bigger  and  stronger.  The  Americans  had 
pulled  together  six  months,  the  others  ten. 
Both  captains  were  seamen,  and  true  men  from 
the  soles  of  their  feet  to  the  arch  of  their  skulls. 
Side  by  side,  and  not  ten  feet  apart,  we 
pulled,  and  neither  forged  a  foot  ahead  of  the 
other.  The  water  was  smooth  as  a  mill  pond, 
and  if  there  was  a  difTerence,  Tugwell's  men 
made  a  hair  the  most  splutter.  I  held  myself 
down — looking  at  the  captain  somehow  helped 
me — and  pulled  as  I  never  pulled  before.  I 
gripped  the  water  firmly,  barely  covering  my 
blade,  put  my  whole  weight  in  the  stroke,  and 
got  in  a  vicious  ting  at  the  end  that  made  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  89 

boat  jump.  The  captain  nodded  with  a  stern 
smile  on  his  gaunt  features,  and  I  knew  I  was 
right.  Morrison,  Manuel,  Joe  Wing  and  Jonas 
knew  how  to  pull,  too.  The  oars,  three  to 
starboard,  two  on  the  port,  rose  and  fell  as 
truly  with  my  stroke,  and  feathered  as  rhyth 
mically  as  if  the  same  powerful  hand  controlled 
all.  There  was  no  hurry,  no  excitement ;  we  all 
smiled,  and  save  for  the  rush  of  the  boat,  and 
the  foamy  curl  on  each  side  the  bow,  our  power 
would  have  gone  unsuspected. 

Before  half  a  mile  had  passed  the  complacent 
smirk  disappeared  from  the  English  skipper's 
face.  No  one  was  a  better  judge  of  men  and 
boats,  and  what  he  saw  made  him  anxious. 
His  broad  face  became  grim,  and  he  turned 
again  to  his  own  crew: 

"A  little  quicker!  And  steady,  my  men. 
Steady!" 

Then  I  saw  the  form  of  the  after  oarsman  of 
the  Martha's  boat  draw  ahead,  bit  by  bit.  I 
turned  my  head,  and  met  the  gray  eye  of  Uncle 
Zene.  Persistent  use  of  the  telescope  had  set 
it  deep  in  his  head,  and  although  it  was  glow 
ing  like  a  live  coal,  somehow  I  gathered  cool 
ness  and  comfort  from  it. 

"They've  got  more  beef,  Ned,"  he  murmured, 


90  There  She  Blows 

softly,  "and  maybe  they'll  be  sorry  for  it  after 
they  keep  this  lick  up  another  mile.  Steady, 
boy.  We're  doing  well." 

Captain  Tugwell  drew  a  length  ahead,  and 
stayed  there.  We  pulled  like  a  well-oiled  ma 
chine,  and  wore  our  old,  happy  expression. 
We  looked  at  the  Old  Man  in  the  stern 
sheets.  We  knew  him,  and  were  easy,  although 
each  of  us,  despite  seeming  carelessness,  had 
sporting  blood  enough  to  have  given  our  lay 
sooner  than  be  beaten.  The  whale  was  in  full 
sight  from  the  boats,  although  only  the  mas 
ters,  who  faced  the  chase,  could  see  him.  He 
had  ceased  breaching  and  lay  at  ease,  a  patch 
of  his  broad  back  as  big  as  a  barn  showing 
above  the  blue  water. 

The  boats  from  the  Martha  had  got  away 
before  those  from  the  Avola,  and  were  coming 
down  the  further  side  of  the  triangle,  but  our 
captain  saw  that  Mr.  Haveron  headed  them. 
These  boats  would  have  been  nearer  the  whale 
than  we  but  for  the  duel  between  the  skippers. 
As  it  was  the  superior  crews  of  the  latter  had 
wiped  out  the  advantage  in  the  start.  It  was 
only  a  question  whether  Tom  Morrison  or 
Captain  Tugwell's  boatsteerer  would  "break 
blackskin"  first.  But  wait  a  bit! 


A  Whaling  Yarn  91 

The  whale  was  only  half  a  mile  away,  and 
the  two  boats  were  coming  up  abaft  his  fin.    It 
would  not  do  to  cross  his  line  of  sight,  which— 
fortunately  for  whalemen — is  restricted. 

"A  leetle  more  ginger,  Ned !"  breathed  Uncle 
Zene. 

It  seemed  to  me  I  had  been  waiting  half  my 
life  for  this  permission.  I  gathered  myself  and 
lay  back  on  my  oar  with  a  smooth,  fluent  heave, 
that,  as  the  rest  of  the  crew  took  the  new  mo 
tion,  seemed  to  lift  the  boat  over  the  water 
instead  of  forcing  her  through  it.  But  Captain 
Tugwell  was  not  the  man  to  be  caught  napping. 
He  heard  the  bitter  grind  of  the  oar  looms  on 
the  rowlocks,  and  with  a  quick  glance  back 
ward  he  leaned  to  his  sturdy  fellows,  and  cried : 

"Now  PULL!" 

Hurrah !  Here  was  the  tug  of  war !  Those 
brawny  British  giants  straightened  themselves 
in  a  simultaneous  flash,  and  in  a  twinkle  both 
crews  were  in  a  contest  that  would  have  dis 
abled  ordinary  or  untrained  men  by  the  violence 
of  their  exertions.  The  pretense  of  indifference 
was  thrown  off  the  faces  like  a  discarded  mask, 
and  now  these  Anglo-Saxons,  American  and 
British,  locked  their  jaws  like  sprung  steel 
traps.  Tugwell's  black  beard  bristled  with 


92  There  She  Blows 

eagerness,  and  as  much  of  his  countenance  as 
could  be  seen  was  crimson.  He  had  abandoned 
all  affectation  of  unconcern,  and  his  gaze  at 
Captain  Bourne  was  a  defiant  glare. 

Uncle  Zene's  attitude  would  have  made  a 
superb  marble  of  Action.  His  poise  suggested 
a  leap  forward,  and  he  seemed  only  to  hold 
himself  back  by  the  grasp  of  the  corded  left 
hand  on  the  steering  oar.  His  face  was  livid, 
and  his  eyes  no  longer  burning  coals,  but  in 
tense  lightning,  as  they  flashed  over  his  own 
crew  to  the  British  boat,  and  beyond  to  the 
whale. 

The  second  of  time  I  had  captured  sent  our 
boat  ahead  with  a  leap  that  nearly  closed  the 
gap.  Clink !  Clank !  went  the  leathered  looms 
in  the  iron  row  locks.  The  wave  turned  white 
and  hissed  as  the  bows  cut  it,  and,  inch  by  inch, 
we  gained!  Tugwell  shifted  the  grip  of  his 
steering  oar  from  his  right  to  his  left  hand,  but 
before  he  completed  the  motion  our  skipper 
reached  forward,  and  falling  into  my  heave, 
pushed  on  the  after  oar  as  I  pulled.  The  Briton 
executed  the  same  manoeuvre  two  heartbeats 
later,  but  he  had  been  forestalled.  Now,  Joe 
Wing,  tugging  at  the  midship  oar,  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  Sydney  boat,  and  his  staunch 


A  Whaling-  Yarn  93 

ashen  blade  tore  through  the  water  with  a  force 
that  tried  its  virtue.  Then  Jonas  saw  the  Brit 
ish  bow,  and  at  last  it  came  in  my  line  of  vision. 
The  Lime-juicers  were  being  fairly  out-pulled ! 

Neither  crew  took  a  thought  of  the  whale  in 
this  desperate  work.  Our  backs  being  to  it 
we  could  not  see,  and,  anyway,  it  was  the  busi 
ness  of  the  captains  to  look  after  that  part  of 
the  affair ;  ours  to  win  the  race.  But  Leviathan 
was  close  aboard  now.  Suddenly  the  Old  Man 
stood  erect: 

"Avast  pulling!" 

The  stroke  was  arrested  in  mid  air,  and  with 
a  common  impulse  we  looked  over  our  shoul 
ders. 

"There  goes  flukes !"  added  he. 

What  we  saw  was  a  huge,  ebony  column, 
ten  yards  high,  a  hundred  feet  in  front.  The 
bull  had  literally  stood  on  his  head  preparatory 
to  sounding,  and  as  we  gazed  he  passed  out  of 
sight,  waving  in  farewell  a  pair  of  flukes 
twenty  feet  broad. 

Captain  Tugwell's  boat  shot  ahead  ten  feet, 
and  now  its  crew  lay  on  its  oars.  Tugwell  was 
delighted.  This  incident  had  altered  the  com 
plexion  of  affairs,  and  given  him  another 
chance.  Neither  skipper  could  foretell  with 


94  There  She  Blows 

any  certainty  when  and  where  the  bull  would 
reappear.  The  oldest  whaleman  might  be  for 
given  for  making  an  error  in  this  matter. 
Nothing  but  absolute  divination  could  deter 
mine  it,  and  it  was  mightily  important.  The 
nearest  boat  would  probably  be  the  first  to  get 
fast,  and  the  first  iron  driven  into  the  blubber 
decided  not  only  the  captains'  dinner  bet  and 
the  rivalry  of  the  crews,  but  the  ownership  of 
the  whale.  For  no  matter  who  kills,  the  law 
of  the  whaling  ground  holds  that  "he  who 
strikes  first  shall  possess." 

That  black  tower  of  flesh  and  fat  represented 
a  hundred  barrels  of  oil,  a  matter  of  four  or 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  one  not  to  be  under 
rated  by  a  thrifty  Yankee  on  the  fifteenth  lay. 
Uncle  Zene  had  pitted  his  brains  against  the 
wits  of  sperm  whales  almost  from  his  birth. 
Was  he,  who  could  follow  a  school  across  the 
trackless  ocean  as  a  hound  trails  the  deer,  to  be 
beaten  now  by  a  Lime-juicer  from  Sydney !  He 
tried,  as  it  were,  to  fill  his  veins  with  oil  and 
his  brain  with  spermaceti  in  the  effort  to  creep 
inside  the  skin  of  that  hundred-barrel  bull. 
Presently  he  said  softly: 

"Pull  all!" 


A  Whaling  Yarn  95 

Captain  Tugwell  had  taken  position  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  beyond  where  the  whale  had  sounded. 
The  other  boats  arrived  on  the  scene,  and  sta 
tioned  themselves  behind  him. 

"Avast!  Back  water!"  said  our  Old  Man. 
"Look  out,  Mr.  Morrison.  Don't  peak  your 
oars,  my  men.  Stand  by,  all !" 

Uncle  Zene  had  brought  up  half-way  be 
tween  the  British  captain's  boat  and  the  spot 
where  we  had  last  seen  the  whale.  He  reasoned 
that  the  bull  was  not  alarmed,  and  had  no  mo 
tive  for  running  away.  His  keen  eye  had  noted 
the  slight  indication  of  the  flukes,  and  this  gave 
him  the  clue  to  direction.  Our  boat  lay — re 
collect  this — stern  on  to  the  Sydney  captain's. 

The  vertical  sun  scorched  and  roasted.  The 
oily  blue  water  threw  back  the  heat  at  the 
brassy  heavens,  and  the  atmosphere  quivered 
as  if  on  the  point  of  ignition.  Ten  minutes, 
fifteen  passed.  Each  sailor  watched  along  the 
line  of  his  oar.  The  eyes  of  Morrison  and  the 
Old  Man  devoured  all  space.  Of  a  sudden  a 
long,  sobbing  respiration  quavered  at  Captain 
Bourne's  back,  and  I,  facing  that  way,  saw  the 
square,  black  mass  of  the  bull's  head  emerge 
midway  between  the  boats.  Uncle  Zene  sprang 


96  There  She  Blows 

a  foot  in  the  air  and  half  whirled,  laying  back 
on  his  steering  oar  to  bring  his  boat  around. 
Tugwell's  crew  had  caught  the  water. 

Joe  Wing  had  an  inspiration  and  surged  on 
his  oar  to  assist  the  captain  overcome  the  iner 
tia  of  the  boat.  She  shot  around,  more  swiftly 
than  the  Old  Man  had  counted  on.  He  over 
reached,  failed  to  recover,  and  went  overboard 
with  a  great  splash ! 

I  caught  the  flash  of  the  Briton's  oar  blades 
as  the  captain's  heels  passed  out  of  sight. 
Then  I  rose  to  the  occasion  and  made  myself 
famous.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  tossing  my  oar  to 
the  skipper  with  the  same  motion.  My  hand 
gripped  the  handle  of  the  steering  oar,  and  I 
yelled : 

"Give  way!" 

Jonas,  Joe  Wing,  Manuel  and  Tom  Morrison 
heard  my  command,  which  was  half  appeal,  and 
answered.  It  was  the  last  chance  for  the  bull 
whale,  and  the  bet !  They  strained  on  the  ash 
blades  until  their  former  efforts  were  as  noth 
ing. 

"Steady,  steady  there!  Stand  up,  Tom!"  I 
cried. 

Morrison  peaked  his  oar,  and  the  next  in 
stant  braced  his  knee  in  the  clumsy  cleat,  his 


A  Whaling  Yarn  97 

harpoon  above  his  head.  The  British  boat- 
steerer,  on  the  other  side  of  the  whale,  was 
rising. 

"Give  it  to  him !"  I  yelled. 

It  was  a  long  dart,  but  the  fourth  mate 
obeyed  his  after  oarsman.  The  iron  gleamed 
in  the  air  and  sank — chock  to  the  hitches — in 
the  blubber. 

"Starn  all!    We're  fast!"  he  shouted. 

We  picked  up  the  Old  Man  as  we  backed 
out  of  the  way  of  the  whale's  flukes. 

"Blast  you,"  he  said  to  me,  "you're  all 
right!" 

I  will  not  deny  I  was  inclined  to  rejoice  over 
my  exploit,  but  I  did  not  have  much  leisure  to 
receive  congratulations  or  plume  myself.  That 
whale  started  to  sound,  and  we  had  to  attend 
to  business.  Besides  it  appeared  this  bull  had 
his  herd  of  cows  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  and 
they  ranged  up  when  they  found  their  leader 
was  in  trouble.  The  captain  told  me  that 
ordinarily  a  bull  is  looked  upon — by  the  cows 
—as  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  At  any  rate, 
he  is  usually  left  to  fight  his  battles  alone.  Our 
victim's  harem  must  have  been  near  by,  al 
though  undiscovered  by  us  until  the  starboard 
boat  had  got  fast. 


98  There  She  Blows 

The  result  of  the  appearance  of  the  balance 
of  the  school  was  that  every  boat  except  one, 
belonging  to  the  Martha,  killed  a  whale.  This 
was  seven  in  all,  three  to  the  Englishman  and 
four  to  us.  It  was  extraordinary  good  fortune, 
and  put  every  one  into  the  highest  spirits.  Of 
course,  they  were  all  cows  except  the  one  we 
had  got,  and  much  smaller,  and  of  less  value. 
But  such  as  they  were,  they  gave  us  plenty 
occupation.  There  being  no  wind,  the  Avola 
was  unable  to  come  to  us,  so  we  secured  our 
whales  together,  and,  stringing  out  the  boats 
tandem-wise,  one  ahead  of  the  other,  we  towed 
our  carcases  to  the  ship.  That  was  hot  work, 
if  you  please,  with  the  thermometer  at  about 
1 10,  no  sea  on  to  help  us,  and  those  four  whales 
dragging  behind.  Luckily  the  bark  was  only 
about  two  miles  distant  at  the  kill,  and  by  sup 
per  time  we  had  them  all  alongside. 

This  was  one  of  the  whaling  exigencies 
where  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  and  every  man 
was  expected  to  do  his  duty,  and  as  much  more 
as  he  was  able.  In  the  prevailing  hot  weather 
that  blubber  was  liable  to  "blast,"  that  is  be 
come  stringy  and  sticky  so  it  could  not  be 
advantageously  worked  and  tried  out.  If  we 
did  not  get  it  into  the  try  pots  before  these 


'A  Whaling  Yarn  99 

conditions  set  in,  we  might  lose  hundreds  or 
even  thousands  of  dollars,  besides  having  our 
work  go  for  nothing. 

Now  Uncle  Zene  came  to  the  front.  He  took 
personal  charge  of  every  detail  himself,  and 
was  here,  there,  and  everywhere;  supervising, 
inspiriting,  lending  a  sturdy  fist  where  it  was 
needed,  until  he  fired  every  heart.  I  recollect 
there  was  a  glorious  moon  that  night;  the  se 
rene  skies  were  filled  with  golden,  softly  glow 
ing  stars,  like  jewels  lying  on  a  velvet  mantle. 
The  white  canvas  hung  above  us  without  a 
breath  of  air  stirring  its  folds,  and  the  fires 
under  the  pots  roared  and  cast  their  ruddy 
gleams  through  the  shadows. 

All  through  the  night  we  labored  without 
cessation,  and  when  the  early  dawn  appeared, 
all  but  one  of  the  whales  was  cut  in.  All  hands 
were  kept  on  deck  throughout  the  day.  Even 
the  Old  Man  did  not  take  advantage  of  his 
privilege,  as  supreme  in  authority,  to  get  some 
rest.  He  even  had  the  steward  serve  his  meals 
on  deck,  and  at  the  fag  end  of  our  weary  task 
he  looked  as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  if  he  had 
just  turned  out.  There  were  no  flies  on  Uncle 
Zenas,  and  his  whole  ship's  company  were  will 
ing  to  acknowledge  it. 


CHAPTER   NINE 

HTHEY  were  as  busy  on  board  the  Martha  as 
*  we  were,  and  the  weather  remaining  calm, 
the  vessels  drifted  about,  within  a  mile  of  each 
other  the  whole  period  of  the  cutting  in  and 
trying  out.  At  last,  when  Mr.  Morrison  had 
ladled  the  last  skimmerful  of  oil  into  the  cooler, 
and  the  fierce  stress  of  the  occasion  was  over, 
one  of  the  mastheads  hailed  the  deck  and  re 
ported  the  Martha  was  signalling.  Captain 
Bourne  had  the  signal  halliards  rove  and  got 
his  code  up  in  a  jiffy.  A  conversation  by  means 
of  flags  ensued,  and  at  the  end  the  Old  Man 
summoned  Morrison  and  announced  that  Tug- 
well  wanted  to  pay  that  dinner  bet  the  next 
day,  and  he  desired  the  Master  of  the  Avola 
to  bring  his  own  boat  crew,  for  the  men  of  his 
boat  who  had  been  beaten  in  rowing  wanted  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  fellows  who  were 
able  to  do  it. 

We  thought  the  Lime-juicers  pretty  decent 
chaps,  and  the  balance  of  our  shipmates  were 

100 


A  Whaling  Yarn  101 

inclined  to  be  envious  of  our  good  fortune,  for 
it  was  assumed  a  feast  would  be  tendered  us  as 
well  as  our  captain.  Anything  pertaining  to 
grub  is  of  paramount  importance  in  the  fore 
castle  six  months  out,  and  it  was  expected  all 
the  delicacies  in  the  Martha's  run  would  be 
handed  out.  Speculation  was  rife  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  particular  dainties,  and  the  wild 
est  prophecies  were  made  by  Jonas,  who  pre 
tended  to  be  informed  on  the  bill  of  fare  of 
ships  hailing  from  Australia. 

According  to  whaling  etiquette  the  first  mate 
of  the  Martha  came  to  visit  the  Avola  as  we 
made  our  way  to  the  English  vessel.  Captain 
Tugwell  rigged  his  sea  ladder  for  us  at  the 
gangway,  and  received  Uncle  Zene  with  great 
ceremony,  as  the  grizzled,  old  Yankee  skipper 
came  over  the  rail.  He  nodded  to  Tom,  and 
me  as  well,  and  took  in  Jonas,  Joe  Wing,  and 
Manuel  with  a  keen  and  curious  glance  that 
evidenced  he  was  interested  in  us  as  whaling 
material.  I  heard  him  say  to  Captain  Bourne, 
as  they  walked  the  deck  a  little  later : 

"I  would  not  have  believed,  sir,  that  your 
crew  could  out-pull  mine !  And  I  confess  I  can 
not  understand  it !" 


IO2  There  She  Blows 

Uncle  Zene  was  bland  and  soothing  as  sweet 
oil.  To  be  sure  he  had  a  right  to  be  because  he 
had  captured  the  bull: 

"Don't  let  that  stick  in  your  crop,  Captain 
Tugwell,"  said  he,  "I'm  glad  it  isn't  to  do  over 
again.  I  calculate  it  might  come  out  different." 

Tugwell  smiled  in  his  beard,  and  was  might 
ily  consoled  by  this  admission,  but  at  the  same 
time  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  tough  down- 
easter  would  have  died  before  he  let  the  issue 
"come  out  different." 

Tom  Morrison  was  taken  in  charge  by  the 
English  fourth  mate,  and  we  foremast  hands 
were  ushered  to  the  forecastle  by  the  other 
boat  crew.  Close  at  hand  they  turned  out  to 
be  bluff,  hearty  Colonial  Englishmen.  All  had 
been  born  in  Australia,  and  followed  a  sea 
faring  career  since  they  began  to  work.  They 
had  cruised  among  the  islands  of  the  South 
Seas  on  traders,  and  pearlers,  and  whalers, 
until  the  archipelago  was  an  open  book  to  them. 
Had  they  possessed  the  gift  to  tell  their  stories 
to  the  world,  their  experiences  would  have 
made  Melville  and  Stevenson  tame  in  com 
parison.  One  of  them,  a  handsome,  athletic 
fellow,  ran  away  from  a  German  trading 
schooner  on  the  Solomon  islands,  and  lived 


A  Whaling  Yarn  103 

among  the  cannibals  for  three  months,  saving 
his  life  a  dozen  times  by  nerve  and  quick- 
wittedness,  until  at  the  last  he  was  forced  to 
put  to  sea  in  an  egg-shell  of  a  canoe.  He  pad 
dled,  sailed,  and  drifted  ten  days,  and  was 
picked  up  by  a  Spanish  trader.  The  captain  of 
this  craft  was  a  demon  incarnate,  and  the  cast 
away  found  he  had  apparently  exchanged  the 
frying  pan  for  the  fire,  so  one  night  he  launched 
his  canoe  again,  after  breaking  the  skull  of  the 
man  on  anchor  watch  who  tried  to  detain  him. 
This  time  he  was  discovered,  lying  helpless  and 
insane  from  hunger  and  thirst,  in  the  bottom  of 
his  tiny  craft  by  a  homeward-bound  American 
whaler.  He  reached  New  Bedford  that  trip, 
but  shipped  in  the  Mary  a  week  after  arriving 
in  port,  and  went  to  New  Zealand  hump-back 
ing.  Thence  to  Sydney,  where  everybody 
hailed  him  as  one  born  again. 

I  don't  know  what  they  had  to  eat  in  the 
cabin,  but  our  dinner  was  no  great  improve 
ment  on  the  Avola  bill  of  fare.  The  only  thing 
that  seemed  to  be  added  in  honor  of  the  occa 
sion  was  plum  duff.  We  spent  the  balance  of 
the  afternoon  on  the  Martha,  and  I  rather 
imagined  that  the  Sydney  skipper  broached 
more  than  one  bottle  down  below.  Captain 


IO4  There  She  Blows 

Bourne  was  steady  as  a  clock  when  we  started 
back,  but  Tugwell  had  a  sheet  in  the  wind  as 
he  stood  at  the  rail  to  bid  us  farewell.  The 
vessels  separated  the  next  day,  and  that  was 
the  last  time  we  ever  met. 

We  continued  cruising  in  this  vicinity  for 
the  next  three  months,  and  at  the  end  of  that 
period  had  some  five  hundred  barrels  of  oil 
under  our  hatches.  This  was  doing  very  well 
as  such  things  went,  but  it  did  not  satisfy  Uncle 
Zene.  He  had  a  reputation  for  sighting  whales 
oftener  than  any  man  out  of  New  England, 
and  they  were  not  coming  fast  enough  to  suit 
his  views.  So  he  decided  to  run  into  a  small 
harbor  he  knew  of  on  the  skirts  of  the  Philip 
pines,  called  Salla  Baboo,  renew  his  supply  of 
water,  get  some  fresh  fruit  and  vegetables,  and 
bear  away  for  the  New  Ireland  ground,  where 
he  once  before  had  been  successful. 

When  we  arrived  we  found  the  bark  Java, 
out  of  New  Bedford,  lying  there.  We  dropped 
anchor  within  a  couple  of  ship  lengths  of  her, 
and  the  captains  immediately  got  together  to 
exchange  news.  The  Java  had  been  out  three 
years  and  had  some  thirteen  hundred  barrels 
of  oil.  She  was  a  ramshackly  old  craft,  many 
degrees  worse  than  the  Avola,  and  I  learned 


'A  Whaling-  Yarn  105 

from  Tom  Morrison  that  her  stores  were  in 
such  bad  condition  that  the  crew  could  hardly 
eat  the  bread,  which  was  weevilly,  or  the  rusty 
pork  and  beef.  Consequently  they  were  unruly 
and  discontented,  and  many  of  them  would 
have  deserted  if  they  had  been  where  they  could 
have  done  so  to  advantage,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  oil  in  her  hold  meant  considerable 
money  in  their  lays.  Captain  Taylor  was  hav 
ing  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it,  though  the  con 
dition  of  the  ship  and  its  supplies  were  due  to 
no  fault  of  his.  It  seemed  the  short-sighted 
owners  had  sent  the  Java  to  sea  with  a  lot  of 
damaged  supplies  without  taking  Captain  Tay 
lor  into  their  confidence,  and  now  he  was 
bearing  the  brunt  of  their  sins.  He  considered 
this  hard  lines,  and  was  dissatisfied  with  the 
situation.  Although  he  was  forced  to  make  the 
best  of  matters  to  win  out,  he  was  decidedly 
inclined  to  sympathize  with  his  ill-used  ship's 
company,  although  he  dared  not  let  them 
know  it. 

Before  we  had  been  at  Salla  Baboo  twenty- 
four  hours  we  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Java's 
crew,  and  heard  all  I  have  been  telling  you, 
and  more.  I  fancy  Uncle  Zene  was  sorry  he 
had  come  in,  although  he  sympathized  with 


106  There  She  Blows 

Captain  Taylor,  whom  he  considered  a  good 
man  in  an  unwarranted  predicament.  He 
realised,  however,  that  it  was  bad  for  the  mo 
rale  of  our  crew  to  be  mixing  so  intimately 
with  one  in  such  bad  shape  as  that  of  the  Java. 
The  Old  Man  warned  us  before  making  port 
to  be  careful  in  our  dealings  with  the  natives, 
for  they  were  a  mean  and  treacherous  race. 
There  was  a  small  settlement  of  them  hard  by 
our  anchorage,  and  they  came  freely  to  the 
ship,  but  our  officers  would  allow  none  of  the 
foremast  hands  to  go  ashore  unless  in  a  party 
in  charge  of  one  of  the  aftergang.  These  na 
tives  seemed  to  be  some  wild  race  of  Malay 
origin,  and  were  a  villainous  looking  set  of 
wretches,  not  comparable  in  any  degree  with 
the  Bugis  of  Celebes. 

It  rained  heavily  the  third  night  we  were 
there,  and  the  next  morning  we  dropped  all  our 
sails  in  order  to  let  them  dry  and  prevent  the 
canvas  from  rotting.  The  Java  followed  suit. 
Even  in  this  simple  matter  it  was  observable 
that  her  sailors  worked  unwillingly,  and  in  a 
slovenly  way,  very  different  from  the  smart 
manner  in  which  the  Avola-ites  did  their  duty. 

The  weather  was  unsettled,  and  at  four 
bells — 10  a.  m. — a  terrific  squall  came  down 


A  Whaling  Yarn  107 

with  the  suddenness  of  a  thunderbolt.  It  came 
in  right  off  the  sea,  and  caught  us  flat  aback, 
with  all  that  canvas  exposed.  We  had  only 
the  starboard  anchor  down,  and  the  bottom 
was  sandy  and  gave  no  hold  to  the  flukes  that 
was  any  use  in  such  an  emergency,  so  away 
we  went  stern  first  ashore.  Luckily  there  were 
no  rocks,  and  the  beach  had  a  steep  pitch,  so 
that  about  all  the  harm  we  did  was  to  poke  the 
rudder,  which  stuck  out  straight  amidships, 
well  into  the  sand.  During  the  scene  of  wild 
activity  that  ensued  I  had  time  to  see  the  un 
fortunate  old  Java  also  torn  loose  from  her 
moorings,  and  driven  broadside  on  to  the  shore, 
a  few  hundred  feet  below  where  we  were 
pounding.  I  also  noticed  that  the  natives  had 
swarmed  down  like  ants,  and  were  tearing 
along  the  strand,  and  eagerly  crowding  around 
her. 

Our  officers  were  at  their  stations  by  this 
time,  and  the  Old  Man,  in  his  undershirt,  took 
charge  of  matters.  He  was  steady  as  a  rock, 
and  gave  his  orders  with  a  clearness  and  pre 
cision  that  brought  order  out  of  chaos  in  a 
moment,  and  incidentally  made  us  feel  that 
nothing  had  happened  that  could  not  readily  be 
put  right.  He  set  the  port  watch  stowing  the 


io8  There  She  Blows 

canvas  forward,  and  the  starboard  gang  doing 
the  same  at  the  main,  and  all  in  a  quiet  and 
orderly  manner.  The  wind  continued  to  blow 
with  great  force,  and  as  we  of  the  starboard 
watch  came  down  from  aloft,  his  quick  glance 
told  him  the  Java  was  not  getting  her  canvas 
in  as  handily  as  she  should,  and  that  her  posi 
tion,  broadside  on,  put  her  in  a  dangerous 
dilemma.  He  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  but 
ordered  Mr.  Haveron  to  get  the  forward  boat 
in  the  water  and  take  his  watch  to  the  assist 
ance  of  Captain  Taylor.  Then  he  went  aft  with 
Mr.  Stoddard  and  closely  examined  our  own 
situation.  He  seemed  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
even  took  the  trouble  to  tell  us  that  no  harm 
had  been  done  by  the  casting  away  of  the  bark. 
As  soon  as  the  tide  served  in  a  couple  of  hours 
we  would  kedge  the  Avola  off  into  deep  water 
again. 

In  the  meantime,  by  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Haveron  and  our  draft  of  men,  the  Java  had 
succeeded  in  rolling  up  her  sails  and  pointing 
her  yards  to  the  wind.  I  heard  after  that  the 
natives  had  begun  to  swarm  aboard  as  our  men 
arrived,  but  Captain  Taylor  knocked  one  per 
sistent  chap  back  on  the  beach  with  a  belaying 
pin,  and  after  that  the  others  had  come  to  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  109 

conclusion  the  Java  was  still  able  to  take  care 
of  herself. 

After  the  fashion  of  squalls  in  those  lati 
tudes,  the  wind  fell  as  abruptly  as  it  had  arisen, 
and  we  were  all  right  again  except  that  our 
ships  were  on  shore  instead  of  afloat.  Captain 
Taylor  brought  out  his  last  bottle  of  square 
face,  and  spliced  the  main  brace  as  far  as  the 
lucky  port  watch  was  concerned,  and  they  re 
turned  in  high  feather  to  the  Avola.  Then 
there  was  nothing  more  vital  to  do  than  to  kill 
time  until  the  tide  rose  sufficiently  to  put  the 
captain's  plan  for  floating  her  into  operation. 
A  kedge,  weighing  about  four  hundred  pounds, 
was  broke  out  of  the  hold,  and  lowered  gingerly 
on  the  thwart  of  the  boat.  This  was  ferried 
out  a  cable's  length  broad  off  from  where  we 
lay.  It  was  hove  overboard,  and  the  cable 
brought  back  to  the  windlass.  Then  the  right 
bower,  which  had  dragged,  was  hove  short  and 
got  aboard.  By  this  time  the  tide,  running  in 
like  a  mill  race,  was  high  enough  in  Uncle 
Zene's  opinion  to  begin  operations. 

The  men  manned  the  windlass  brakes.  Mr. 
Fletcher,  the  negro  third  mate,  with  the  second 
bass  voice,  took  his  station  at  the  bitts,  and 
when  the  Old  Man  sung  out  cheerily: 


no  There  She  Blows 

"Boost  her  out  of  this,  lads !" 
Fletcher  tuned  up: 

"I'm  goin'  to  Looseyanna 
For  to  see  my  Maryanna !" 

Then  we  all  thundered  in  chorus : 
"To  my  Ranzo,  Ranzo,  Ray-ay !" 

And  the  brakes  pumped  in  unison  like  mad. 
Fletcher  came  again  with  deep  earnestness : 

"Yes!    I'm  goin'  to  Looseyanna 
For  to  hug  my  Maryanna!" 

And  the  chorus : 

"To  my  Ranzo,  Ranzo,  Ray-y-y-y!" 

The  Old  Man  raised  his  hand.  The  ship  had 
not  stirred. 

"Take  both  the  port  boats,  Mr.  Haveron, 
hitch  on  to  the  bowsprit,  and  see  if  you  can't 
give  us  a  tow.  I'm  afraid  that  kedge  will  drag 
if  we  put  any  more  strain  on  it." 

Away  they  went,  and  we  of  the  starboard 
watch  handled  the  brakes  without  help.  But 
we  were  able  to,  for  the  next  effort  made  the 
bark  quiver,  and  another  pull  brought  the  rud 
der  out  of  the  sand,  and  hurrah!  we  slid  out 


A  Whaling  Yarn  in 

smoothly  from  the  shore.  The  port  watch  came 
aboard,  and  we  let  go  both  anchors  this  time, 
and  once  more  the  Avola  was  in  her  native 
element. 

We  had  all  thought  the  Java  in  much  worse 
case  than  ourselves,  but,  as  events  turned  out, 
hers  was  also  an  exceptionally  fortunate  cast 
ing  away.  Her  keel  had  luckily  not  caught 
the  sand  at  all.  Only  her  bilge  lay  on  it.  At  a 
little  higher  stage  of  the  tide  she  came  off  with 
less  trouble  than  we. 

The  next  day  we  filled  and  rafted  off  the  last 
of  our  water  casks,  and  after  Uncle  Zene  had 
bought  a  couple  of  tons  of  yams  and  a  lot  of 
fruit,  we  went  to  sea.  We  left  the  Java  there. 
She  never  showed  up  again  in  New  Bedford, 
nor  was  she  spoken  after  we  saw  her.  Her 
fate  is  one  of  the  numberless  mysteries  the 
ocean  holds  the  key  to. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

WE  dawdled  along  under  cruising  canvas, 
keeping  a  general  southeasterly  course. 
Signs  of  whales  were  abundant,  and  the  Old 
Man  was  continually  on  the  alert.  The  mast 
head  lookouts  were  stimulated  by  the  offered 
prize  of  a  pound  of  ship's  tobacco  to  the  man 
who  first  saw  a  spout,  but  day  after  day  passed 
and  the  welcome  call  never  came  down  to  the 
deck.  This  cruising  for  whales  and  not  getting 
them  is  tedious  work,  and  I  was  delighted  one 
morning,  when  the  starboard  watch  was  on 
deck,  and  the  wind  had  completely  failed,  to  find 
the  Avola  had  drifted  so  close  to  an  island — I 
afterward  knew  it  to  be  one  of  the  New  Heb 
rides — that  the  wavelets  could  be  seen  break 
ing  on  the  beach  of  white  sand,  and  the  cocoa- 
nut  groves  in  full  view  tossing  their  plumed 
heads  in  the  air.  A  little  after  sunrise,  when 
canoes  were  observed  gathering  along  the 
water's  edge  with  the  evident  intention  of  com 
ing  out  to  the  ship,  the  port  watch  forbore  their 

112 


A  Whaling  Yarn  113 

sleep  to  remain  on  deck,  and  enjoy  the  sen 
sation. 

When  the  sun  hung  an  hour  high,  a  fleet  of 
canoes  approached  the  ship.  They  differed 
from  the  South  sea  craft  I  had  seen,  and  though 
they  were  really  canoes  in  that  they  were  dug — 
or  rather  burned — out  of  a  single  log,  they  were 
much  larger  than  those  we  had  hitherto  known. 
Ten,  or  even  fifteen  paddlers  went  to  each  craft 
in  addition  to  the  loads  of  fruit  and  other 
articles  they  were  bringing  for  purposes  of 
barter. 

The  Old  Man  had  come  on  deck  and  was 
surveying  the  flotilla  through  his  antique  tele 
scope.  Presently  he  called  Mr.  Stoddard,  the 
second  mate,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  deck, 
and  said: 

"There  must  be  a  couple  of  hundred  niggers 
there,  Mr.  Stoddard,  and  they  want  to  trade. 
But  these  New  Hebrides  natives  haven't  the 
best  reputation,  and  it's  just  as  well  to  be  on  the 
safe  side.  Don't  let  more  than  ten  of  them 
aboard  at  once,  and  gather  the  balance  under 
the  stern.  We'll  use  a  long-handled  scoop  net 
to  lift  up  our  purchases.  I  guess  somebody  had 
better  stand  by  with  my  double-barreled  gun  in 


114  There  She  Blows 

case  of  trouble.  Send  that  Long  Island  Ned 
aft.  He  can  shoot,  I've  heard. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!" 

The  captain  brought  up  his  gun — an  old- 
fashioned  muzzle  loader  and  a  powder  horn 
that  had  possibly  done  duty  in  the  revolutionary 
war,  with  a  handful  of  duck  shot.  He  had  some 
doubt  about  the  efficacy  of  the  latter,  and  I  fi 
nally  manufactured  some  wicked  slugs  out  of  a 
handy  section  of  lead  pipe.  I  loaded  the  fusee, 
and  took  my  station  on  top  of  the  after-house. 
By  this  time  the  canoes  had  dashed  along  side, 
the  natives  yelling  and  splashing  their  paddles. 
At  first  they  unceremoniously  tried  to  climb  up 
the  Avola's  sides  and  over  the  rail.  But  Stod- 
dard,  Morrison,  and  the  boatsteerers  put  a  stop 
to  that  after  permitting  the  foremost  ten  to 
come  on  deck.  The  balance  took  the  prohibi 
tion  good-naturedly,  although  they  attempted 
to  evade  the  vigilance  of  the  officers  until  they 
found  the  effort  of  no  avail. 

I  did  not  wonder  the  Old  Man  was  backward 
about  giving  them  any  rope,  for  they  were  a 
wild  and  savage-looking  set  of  heathen.  A 
breech  clout  of  grass  blades  strung  on  cocoa- 
nut  husk  twine  was  their  sole  garment,  and 
their  thin  arms  and  legs  were  of  ape-like  length. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  115 

Their  hair  was  arranged  in  a  striking  fashion, 
entirely  new  to  me.  It  had  in  the  first  place — 
as  appeared  in  the  light  of  subsequent  knowl 
edge — been  killed  by  the  application  of  quick 
lime,  made  by  burning  coral.  Then  the  hair, 
resembling  untarred  hemp  oakum  after  the 
treatment,  was  divided  into  ridges  running  fore 
and  aft  from  the  forehead  to  the  nape  of  the 
neck.  Each  furrow  was  tinted  a  different  gor 
geous  hue,  so  that  some  of  their  noddles  rivalled 
the  solar  spectrum,  and  contained  all  the  pri 
mary  colors.  The  ornamentation  seemed  to  be 
affected  mainly  by  the  young  bucks,  and  to  be 
attributable  to  their  inordinate  vanity. 

Those  who  were  permitted  the  privilege  of 
coming  aboard  were  perfectly  amazed  by  their 
new  surroundings,  and  it  was  evident  they  had 
never  before  had  so  close  a  glimpse  of  the  won 
derful  winged  canoe  of  the  White  Man.  It  was 
also  quickly  apparent  they  were  born  thieves, 
for  they  attempted  to  filch  every  article  taking 
their  fancy — which  was  capacious — in  the 
most  naive  way.  Fortunately  their  scanty  at 
tire  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  conceal  any 
thing  about  their  persons.  Had  they  been  fitted 
out  with  pockets  they  would  have  filled  them  in 
a  jiffy.  As  it  was  they  were  compelled  to  give 


Ii6  There  She  Blows 

up,  with  scant  regard  to  their  feelings,  what 
ever  they  took.  They  did  not  mind  this,  and 
had  not  the  remotest  notion  of  being  ashamed 
of  their  share  in  the  transaction.  I  saw  one 
powerful  fellow  stoop  and  furtively  attempt  to 
pull  up  the  iron  ring  bolt  at  the  corner  of  the 
main  hatch.  He  nearly  tore  his  arms  out  in  the 
effort,  but  naturally  did  not  succeed,  as  the  ring 
was  secured  by  a  clamp  on  the  other  side  of  the 
deck  beam. 

Another  native,  who  had  a  white  rooster — 
for  sale — under  his  arm,  was  attracted  by 
Jonas'  tin  dish,  a  new  one.  Jonas  had  washed 
it  after  breakfast  and  put  it  on  top  of  the  scrap 
cooler  to  dry.  The  rays  of  the  sun  scintillated 
brilliantly  on  the  radiant  tin  and  fired  the  sav 
age  soul  with  a  desire  of  immediate  possession. 
He  glanced  aft — nobody  was  observing  him. 
He  quickly  gathered  that  royal  appanage  to  his 
breast  with  his  right  hand,  the  left  being  oc 
cupied  with  chanticleer.  Once  secure  of  his 
prize,  he  made  a  leap  for  the  rail  aft  of  the 
fore  rigging.  His  intention  was,  no  doubt, 
to  escape  overboard  and  swim  straightway 
ashore,  enriched  to  the  end  of  his  days  with 
his  new  possession.  Unfortunately  for  the 
success  of  his  project,  Jonas  had  his  eye  on 


A  Whaling  Yarn  117 

him.  When  the  marauder  got  his  head  and 
shoulders  over  the  side — his  natural  agility 
being  hampered  by  the  need  of  holding  on  the 
pan  and  cock — the  Yankee  grabbed  a  stick  of 
fire  wood  from  the  cook's  store  in  the  deck  pot, 
and  leaning  outboard  with  his  left  hand  cling 
ing  to  the  fore  swifter,  he  menaced  the  darky's 
brilliant  crop  of  wool.  The  fellow  gave  a 
screech  and  dropped  the  pan  on  deck.  Jonas 
fell  back,  and  the  detected  thief  made  a  clean 
breach  overboard,  breaking  water  ten  yards 
away.  The  rooster  was  gasping,  and,  no  doubt, 
wishing  he  was  a  duck. 

In  the  meantime  trading  over  the  stern  had 
been  going  on  under  the  supervision  of  Captain 
Bourne.  Big  Anton  had  the  scoop  net,  with  a 
twelve-foot  handle,  and  when  the  skipper  by 
means  of  signs  made  the  occupants  of  a  canoe 
comprehend  he  was  willing  to  exchange  one 
fish  hook,  or  a  piece  of  rusty,  worn-out  hoop- 
iron  six  inches  long,  or  a  tenth  of  a  small  plug 
of  tobacco  for  a  bunch  of  bananas,  or  a  string 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  green  cocoa  nuts,  the  bar 
gain  was  eagerly  accepted.  Then  Uncle  Zene, 
wise  in  his  generation,  and  a  good  trader, 
would  direct  Anton  to  haul  up  the  fruit.  After 
wards  he  would  carefully  stick  the  hook  (three 


n8  There  She  Blows 

dozen  for  ten  cents)  in  the  mesh  of  a  rope-yarn 
of  the  scoop,  and  fulfill  his  part  of  the  bargain 
like  an  honest  man.  But  the  natives  had  lots 
of  fruit,  and  yams,  and  taro,  and  other  things 
the  captain  of  the  Avola  needed,  for  the  ship's 
fare  had  been  salt  horse  and  hard  tack  for  a 
long  period.  Therefore,  after  a  time  he  grew 
impatient  of  this  tedious  mode  of  exchange, 
and  took  a  sudden  resolution. 

"Lower  away  the  starboard  boat!"  he  sung 
out. 

His  crew  had  it  in  the  water  in  ten  seconds, 
and  stood  by  for  orders.  I  handed  the  artillery 
to  Mr.  Stoddard,  and  was  with  them. 

"Jump  in  the  crew!  Mr.  Stoddard,  get  two 
or  three  of  the  hands.  Give  them  each  a  loaded 
musket  from  the  companion  rack,  but  don't  let 
them  show  noses  unless  you  see  cause  in  the 
action  of  the  blacks.  Do  not  let  any  more 
aboard." 

He  stepped  in  the  boat,  and  it  at  once  fell 
back  into  the  midst  of  the  fleet  of  canoes  under 
the  stern  of  the  Avola.  The  bark  was  without 
steerage  way,  and  boat  and  canoes  were  alike 
stationary.  This  move  pleased  the  natives,  and 
they  crowded  around  until  the  whale  boat  was 
encompassed  three  or  four  deep.  The  crew— 


A  Whaling  Yarn  119 

each  on  hii  thwart — sat  looking  on,  and  the 
Old  Man  began  trading.  He  had  brought  a 
supply  of  merchandise  in  the  loose  breast  of 
his  jumper,  and  as  he  concluded  a  transaction, 
the  fruit,  or  whatever  he  had  bought,  was 
handed  to  me,  and  I  deposited  it  in  the  vacant 
place  in  the  stern  sheets.  All  went  smoothly, 
and  the  men,  at  first  a  little  uneasy,  began  to 
enjoy  the  experience  and  exult  in  the  large 
quantities  of  fresh  "chuck"  the  Old  Man  was 
laying  in  at  such  favorable  rates. 

A  dicker  for  a  number  of  strings  of  green 
cocoanuts  had  just  been  concluded  when  it 
suddenly  struck  me  that  although  we  had  been 
buying  those  nuts  by  the  score,  the  space  in  the 
stern  sheets  did  not  grow  proportionately 
fuller.  The  realization  came  upon  me  with 
the  abruptness  of  an  unexpected  slap  in  the 
face,  and  in  a  flash  of  conviction  I  caught  on 
to  the  fact  that  the  boat  was  being  robbed. 

I  turned  to  Uncle  Zene  who  was  already  in 
tent  upon  securing  another  lot,  and  immersed 
in  his  own  part  of  the  business,  utterly  un 
suspicious  of  foul  play.  On  each  side  of  the 
boat  the  canoes  crowded,  and  my  sharpened 
eye-sight  now  detected  war  clubs  and  spears 
partially  concealed  in  the  dunnage  in  the  bottom 


I2O  There  She  Blows 

of  some  of  them.  The  craft  nearest  were 
emptied  of  fruit,  their  cargoes  having  been 
purchased.  The  empty  canoes  did  not  haul 
out,  and  the  last  purchases  were  passed  from 
dug-out  to  dug-out  until  delivered.  This  con 
signment  came  over  the  port  side.  The  nuts 
were  strung  in  bunches,  making  a  cumbrous 
package  to  handle.  As  rapidly  as  I  received 
each  lot  I  dropped  it  behind  me,  and — because 
I  was  facing  port — out  of  my  line  of  vision. 
The  Old  Man  also  had  his  back  to  the  starboard 
side,  and  the  rest  of  the  crew — delighted  as 
school  boys  on  a  holiday — were  skylarking, 
and  trying  to  talk  to  the  grinning  natives.  I 
began  to  understand.  Without  making  my 
suspicion  apparent  I  kept  an  eye  out  behind  me. 
Presently  one  of  the  natives  in  the  sold  out 
canoe  next  to  the  whale  boat  on  the  starboard 
side  reached  over  furtively,  and  abstracted  a 
string  of  nuts  I  had  just  tossed  on  the  pile. 
I  managed  to  keep  the  string  in  sight  without 
detection,  and  in  mingled  wonder  and  amuse 
ment  I  saw  it  passed  from  one  to  the  other 
adroit  thief  until  it  got  around  to  the  port  side, 
and  was  bought  again  by  Uncle  Zene,  and 
handed  to  me. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  121 

I  lost  no  time  in  informing  the  captain  what 
was  going  on,  though  I  managed  to  convey  the 
news  so  the  blacks  were  unaware  their  little 
game  was  discovered.  The  Old  Man  looked 
serious  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"Don't  let  on  you've  noticed,  and  pass  the 
word  quietly  to  stand  by,  but  to  take  no  notice 
till  I'm  ready." 

While  I  was  diplomatically  discharging  this 
commission  the  captain  appeared  to  discover 
he  had  run  out  of  the  fish  hooks  and  tobacco 
with  which  he  was  paying  cash  down  on  the 
nail.  As  soon  as  he  had  impressed  this  on  the 
minds  of  the  savages  he  looked  around  to  the 
Avola.  The  fleet  of  canoes,  and  the  whale 
boat  in  its  midst  had  drifted  a  couple  of  ships' 
lengths  away,  and  in  the  imminence  of  trouble 
the  keen-witted  old  skipper  had  hit  upon  a 
means  of  reducing  the  distance  without  arous 
ing  the  suspicions  of  the  rapacious  rascals. 

"Bark  ahoy!  Mr.  Stoddard!"  he  hailed. 
"Bring  up  some  tobacco  and  fish  hooks  from  my 
after  cabin,  and  lower  them  down  to  me  in  that 
scoop  net." 

In  a  moment  the  savages  saw  the  treasure- 
laden  scoop  descending,  and  naturally  as  pos- 


122  There  She  Blows 

sible  the  fleet  accompanied  the  whale  boat  until 
it  was  once  more  under  the  counter,  and  the 
protection  of  the  Avola. 

"Now,"  said  uncle  Zene  as  he  received  the 
articles,  "stand  by  for  squalls.  These  niggers 
have  been  stealing  out  of  our  boat,  and  I'm  go 
ing  to  give  them  a  lesson.  Are  the  muskets 
ready?" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  the  second  mate, 
cool  as  a  cucumber  on  ice.  "Give  me  one  min 
ute." 

He  disappeared  in  the  companion  way  open 
ing  off  the  binnacle.  The  next  moment  four 
men,  each  with  a  loaded  gun,  lounged  to  the 
taffrail : 

"All  ready,  sir,"  reported  Stoddard.  "Touch 
off  your  trouble  as  soon  as  you  please." 

"Ned,"  said  the  Old  Man  to  me,  "as  soon  as 
you  catch  that  black  thief  at  work  again,  let 
him  have  your  paddle  over  his  head  as  hard  as 
you  know  how.  Don't  be  afraid  of  hurting 
him." 

I  nodded  silently,  and  gave  the  hardwood 
paddle  a  shove  with  my  foot  so  it  lay  within 
easy  reach.  The  men  heard  all  this,  and  they 
too  kept  their  eyes  on  their  paddles,  and  waited 
expectantly.  The  blacks  had  allowed  this 


A  Whaling  Yarn  123 

preparation  to  pass  under  their  untutored 
noses,  and  had  no  premonition.  The  Old  Man 
resumed  trading  unconcernedly,  and  the  cocoa 
nuts,  yams,  taro,  and  bananas  began  to  circu 
late  towards  the  whale  boat  again. 

A  different  formation  of  the  flotilla  had  re 
sulted  when  it  moved  under  the  Avola's  stern, 
and  the  canoes  surrounding  the  boat  were  laden 
instead  of  empty.  It  took  some  time — possibly 
five  minutes — before  conditions  became  ripe 
for  a  repetition  of  the  sharp  practice.  During 
the  interval  the  boat  was  not  allowed  to  drift 
apart  from  the  bark,  the  skipper  directing  the 
crew  to  take  an  occasional  stroke  with  the  pad 
dles  to  retain  the  desired  proximity.  This 
order  gave  us  an  excuse  for  keeping  the  paddles 
in  our  fists. 

At  last  the  same  man  who  had  been  working 
the  game  got  into  the  position  he  had  previously 
occupied.  He  was  a  lean,  wiry  fellow,  alert  in 
manner,  and  with  intelligent  features.  He 
imagined  his  opportunity  had  arrived,  and 
leaning  over  took  a  palm  leaf  basket  of  taro 
from  the  whale  boat.  It  weighed  fifteen  or 
twenty  pounds,  and  as  he  straightened  to  lift 
it  over  the  gunwale  the  cranky  craft  in  which 
he  sat  with  eight  other  natives  tipped  so  the 


124  There  She  Blows 

water  came  almost  level  with  the  side.  At  that 
instant  I  swung  my  four  foot  ashen  paddle. 
I  brought  the  broad  side  of  the  heavy  blade 
down  on  his  bushy  head  with  a  hearty  good 
will  that  fairly  knocked  him  out  of  the  canoe. 
His  thatch  of  hair  lessened  the  impact  of  the 
blow.  It  would  have  been  more  effective  to 
have  struck  on  his  bare  carcase.  As  it  was, 
he  was  not  even  stunned — except  by  surprise 
at  the  unexpectedness  of  retribution.  He 
dove  like  an  otter  beneath  the  whale  boat,  and 
emerged  behind  the  line  of  canoes  on  the  far 
ther  side. 

The  sudden  blow  was  like  a  stage  bell,  and 
rang  up  the  curtain.  Before  the  thief  had  ap 
peared  above  water  Stoddard  and  his  four  men 
cocked  and  leveled  their  guns  at  the  huddled 
fleet  of  canoes.  At  the  same  instant  each  man 
of  the  starboard  boat  crew  brandished  his  pad 
dle,  and  prepared  to  break  the  head  of  the  near 
est  black.  Uncle  Zene  had  a  heavy  Colt  navy 
in  his  hand,  and  was  awaiting  the  outcome, 
ready  for  desperate  action  should  the  occasion 
call  for  it. 

No  one  of  us  had  the  least  notion — save  pos 
sibly  the  Old  Man — of  how  the  cat  would  jump. 
The  inhabitants  of  these  islands  were  reputed 


A  Whaling  Yarn  125 

to  be  treacherous  and  bloodthirsty;  therefore 
in  spite  of  our  preparedness  we  awaited  the 
sequel  to  the  blow  with  hearts  beating  more 
rapidly  than  ordinarily. 

There  had  been  a  startled  exclamation  from 
the  blacks  who  saw  the  blow  fall,  but  it  is  prob 
able  that  out  of  the  mob  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
natives  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  realized  on 
the  instant  what  had  happened,  although  I  sus 
pect  most  of  them  were  aware  of  the  stealing, 
and  in  collusion  with  it.  Among  these  there 
was  an  uneasy  pause  after  the  first  involuntary 
cry,  and  when  they  perceived  the  uninjured 
culprit  bob  up  from  the  water  gasping,  and  as 
yet  scarcely  aware  of  the  cause  of  his  immer 
sion,  they  burst  into  loud  cries  which  were  ap 
parently  explanatory,  for  the  next  moment 
followed  a  roar  of  unsympathizing  merriment 
at  the  discomfiture  of  their  detected  comrade. 

Uncle  Zene's  revolver  disappeared.  The 
strained  faces,  and  bunched  muscles  of  the 
crew  relaxed,  and  we  joined  joyfully  in  the 
laughter.  A  glance  at  the  Avola  showed  no 
sign  of  armed  and  frowning  defiance.  The 
curtain  had  been  rung  down. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  COUPLE  of  days  after  the  adventure  re- 
*»  corded  in  the  last  chapter,  the  ever-wel 
come  hail  came  down  from  the  masthead : 

"Thar  she  blows!  Thar  she  blows!  Thar 
she  blows !  Thar  she  blows !" 

All  hands  appeared  on  deck  with  the  alac 
rity  of  children  preparing  for  a  Sunday  school 
picnic.  It  was  Mr.  Fletcher  who  had  raised 
the  spouts  but  now  the  others  on  lookout  took 
up  the  call,  and  it  was  apparent  to  us  on  deck 
that  a  school  of  whales  was  in  sight.  In  a  mo 
ment  Captain  Bourne,  who  had  come  from  be 
low  as  if  shot  out  of  a  gun,  sung  out : 

"What  do  you  make  of  them,  Mr.  Fletcher? 
It  sounds  pretty  good!" 

"School  of  sperm  whales,  sir,  about  four 
miles  off  on  the  weather  bow.  Twenty  or 
thirty  of  them,  sir,  from  the  spouts !" 

"That's  hearty,"  returned  the  Old  Man. 
"Brace  the  main  yard !" 

All  hands  were  on  deck  and  we  braced  the 
126 


A  Whaling  Yarn  127 

yards  sharp  so  that  the  Avola  could  lay  a  course 
heading  for  the  whales.  The  wind  was  light, 
and  we  made  slow  progress,  but  the  school  re 
mained  in  sight  despite  our  fears  to  the  con 
trary.  Nevertheless  it  seemed  hours  before  the 
order  came  to  lower  the  boats.  We  were  not  a 
mile  from  the  whales  when  it  did.  The  cap 
tain  said  to  the  officers  before  lowering : 

"Get  on  to  them  whales  as  easy  as  you  know 
how.  When  you  are  close,  paddle.  Don't 
make  any  noise,  or  you're  liable  to  galley  them. 
When  you're  among  'em  all  work  together,  and 
each  strike  a  cow.  If  they've  got  calves  with 
them  be  sure  you  don't  get  your  iron  into  one 
of  them,  or  you're  liable  to  have  a  stove  boat. 
Lower  away!" 

Away  we  went  in  a  bunch.  Mindful  of  the 
captain's  warning  there  was  no  haste,  and  we 
regulated  our  speed  by  each  other's  for  the 
purpose  was  to  attack  the  whales  at  the  same 
moment  so  the  school  would  not  be  frightened 
before  all  the  boats  were  fast.  The  first  mate's 
boat  led  slightly,  and  when  he  arrived  within  a 
quarter  mile  of  them  he  said  softly  to  his 
crew: 

"Peak  oars,  and  take  your  paddles.     If  any 


128  There  She  Blows 

of  you  hit  the  side  of  the  boat,  or  make  a  racket 
in  any  other  way,  I'll  knock  his  fool  head  off, 
and  stick  a  boat  bucket  on  instead !" 

We  others  followed  suit,  and  the  four  boats 
silently  swept  down  on  the  unsuspecting  school, 
which  had  no  more  idea  of  danger  being  im 
minent  than  a  parson  at  a  tea  party.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  had  ever  approached  a  whale 
facing  forward,  so  I  could  see  every  thing  that 
took  place. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  ten  acre  patch  of  the  ocean 
was  packed  with  the  huge  black  bodies  of  these 
sea  monsters.  They  rolled  around,  and 
spouted,  and  nosed  each  other  in  a  social  way, 
and  it  made  me  feel  as  if  we  were  viewing  an 
aquarium  with  the  whales  disporting  them 
selves  in  a  prodigious  tank  for  the  benefit  of 
the  spectators.  I  observed  a  number,  at  least  a 
dozen,  of  the  mammals  were  only  from  ten  to 
twenty  feet  long.  Tom  Morrison  whispered : 

"Its  a  herd  of  cows  and  calves.  Those  lit 
tle  fellows  are  suckling  the  mothers  yet." 

These  mothers  suckled  their  babies  just  as 
the  true  bovine  mother  does,  and  presently 
Tom  pointed  out  one  that  was  feeding.  It 
nuzzled  the  cow  whale  with  its  nose  as  you  have 
seen  a  calf  do  in  the  stable  to  its  mother. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  129 

There  was  no  bull  in  the  school,  Morrison  said. 
It  was  probably  twenty  or  even  thirty  miles 
away,  for  a  bull  whale  does  not  often  conde 
scend  to  remain  any  length  of  time  with  his 
wives.  It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  pertaining 
to  the  whale  that  he  is  always  able  to  com 
municate  over  miles  of  water  with  his  cows. 

Our  boats  spread  out  to  a  distance  of  fifty 
yards  apart  to  minimize  the  danger  of  inter 
ference,  and  we  gently  paddled  in  among  those 
whales.  They  did  not  seem  to  notice  us,  and 
on  all  sides  I  could  see  their  great  backs  almost 
rubbing  the  boat,  and  their  huge  heads  nearly 
within  reach.  The  officers  watched  Mr.  Hav- 
eron — they  had  laid  their  plans  on  the  way — 
and  when  he  motioned  old  Joe,  his  black  Cape 
de  Verde  boatsteerer  to  stand  up,  they  followed 
suit. 

The  next  moment  four  harpoons  were  driven 
home,  and  the  four  boats  were  fast  each  to  a 
fifty  or  sixty  barrel  cow.  I  anticipated  prompt 
annihilation  in  these  close  quarters,  but  to  my 
surprise  nothing  of  the  kind  I  had  expected 
occurred.  The  stricken  whales  appeared  more 
bewildered  than  enraged,  and  though  they 
plunged  around  in  disorder  at  the  prick  of  the 
irons  they  did  not  immediately  sound,  nor  take 


130  There  She  Blows 

out  line  at  any  great  rate.  Their  companions 
seemed  to  realize  something  was  wrong  and 
the  harpooned  ones  in  trouble,  for  they  ranged 
along  side  of  their  wounded  comrades,  and 
shouldered  them  in  sympathy.  The  calves 
were  more  obstreperous,  and  swam  hither  and 
thither  at  top  speed. 

Now  I  became  aware  that  Morrison  had  ex 
changed  places  with  Joe  Fayal,  and  was  stand 
ing  knee  in  clumsy  cleat,  and  lance  in  hand.  A 
large  cow  came  near,  and  at  a  distance  of  ten 
feet  he  hurled  his  death-dealing  weapon  into 
her,  forward  of  the  fin,  and  it  penetrated  a 
fathom  into  her  breast.  She  shuddered,  and 
the  next  instant  a  shower  of  bloody  spray  and 
vapor  came  out  of  her  spout  hole,  and  be 
sprinkled  us  in  the  boat.  Morrison  hauled  his 
lance  back  as  another  whale  brushed  by  us,  and 
darted  again.  I  don't  know  what  was  happen 
ing  in  the  other  boats  during  this  period,  but 
I  was  told  afterward  each  officer  tried  to  kill 
a  victim  with  lance  whenever  he  felt  certain  of 
inflicting  a  fatal  wound.  I  seemed  to  see  red 
spouts  arising  on  every  side  of  me,  and  the  at 
mosphere  was  a  wall  of  bloodstained  fog. 
Now  the  wounded  whales,  maddened  by  the 
pain  of  the  lance  thrusts,  began  to  rush  wildly 


'A  Whaling  Yarn  131 

about.  Twice  we  would  have  been  run  down 
if  Fayal  Joe  had  not  dextrously  swung  the  boat 
in  time  to  save  us.  The  whale  we  were  fast  to 
decided  to  seek  the  bottom,  and  the  line  began 
to  whir  out  of  the  tub,  and  forward  between 
the  chocks  in  the  nose  of  the  boat. 

Altogether  it  was  getting  about  as  lively  as 
any  one  could  desire.  I  like  excitement,  but 
that  time  I  had  my  fill,  and  the  next  moment 
brought  the  climax.  Some  whale,  I  don't  know 
which  one  for  I  had  lost  track  of  them  as  in 
dividuals,  got  its  flukes  neatly  under  the  bow  of 
our  boat.  I  say  bow,  but  from  what  ensued 
the  tail  must  have  extended  under  nearly  half 
the  length  of  the  boat.  I  saw  it,  and  held  my 
breath,  while  Morrison  leaned  over,  and  pushed 
about  ten  feet  of  his  lance  into  the  side  of  that 
whale,  pulled  it  out  by  the  haft,  and  churned 
it  in  again  in  what  I  suppose  seemed  to  him  a 
more  promising  place. 

Then  came  the  catastrophe!  I  had  been 
vaguely  expecting  death,  but  could  not  con 
jecture  in  what  shape  it  would  finally  come. 
I  did  not  know  whether  the  heavens  had  fallen, 
or  I  had  gone  up  to  meet  them.  It  turned  out 
to  be  the  latter.  The  great  whale,  an  eighty 
barrel  cow,  made  an  easy  gesture  with  her 


132  There  She  Blows 

flukes,  as  one  would  flip  his  finger,  and  up  went 
the  starboard  boat  and  its  crew  in  the  air.  Re 
flection  has  since  convinced  me  it  did  not  ascend 
more  than  thirty  feet  above  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  but  it  seemed  then  higher  than  the  royal 
pole,  and  that's  a  hundred  easily.  There  was 
skill  as  well  as  vigor  in  that  toss  for  when  the 
boat  reached  the  highest  point  it  gently  turned 
end  for  end,  and  upside  down.  We  all  came 
flying  forth  at  different  angles,  like  pigeons 
from  a  dove  cote.  The  fourth  mate  was 
thrown  farthest  as  he  deserved,  for  I  shall  al 
ways  believe  it  was  that  last  vicious  thrust  of 
his  that  precipitated  the  calamity.  The  bow, 
midship,  and  tub  oarsmen  came  next,  and 
Fayal  Joe  and  myself  fell  nearly  perpendicu 
larly,  within  an  ace  of  landing  on  the  body 
of  the  monster  who  had  caused  the  trouble. 
As  I  instinctively  struck  out  to  prevent  myself 
from  sinking  my  hand  hit  the  whale's  body, 
and  I  withdrew  it  as  from  a  lion's  mouth. 

I  had  no  time  to  think  about  that  however. 
The  next  thing  I  knew  there  was  a  smack  on 
the  bosom  of  the  ocean  nearby,  and  the  flemish 
coil  of  line  out  of  the  forward  tub  landed  by  us. 
Please  remember  there  was  a  whale  fast  to 
the  end  of  this  line,  and  that  he  was  headed  for 


A  Whaling  Yarn  133 

China,  and  travelling  at  about  the  rate  of 
twenty  knots.  That  infernal  coil  did  not  im 
mediately  sink,  as  would  have  been  expected, 
but  began  to  break  apart,  and  distribute 
flakes  all  around  through  the  serene  blue  waves. 
I  could  see  the  leading  part  being  drawn  down 
by  the  pull  of  the  whale,  and  felt  in  my  very 
soul  that  to  be  caught  in  one  of  those  fatal  coils 
meant  a  death  about  as  unpleasant,  and  sudden, 
as  one  could  devise.  I  was  digging  away  from 
this  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  thanking  my  stars  I 
was  a  good  swimmer,  while  Fayal  Joe  kept 
right  up  with  me. 

It  takes  a  long  time  to  describe  a  happening 
so  complicated  as  this.  It  all  occurred  in 
about  ten  seconds.  I  am  sure  Joe  and  I  hold 
the  world  record  for  the  distance  we  swam  in 
that  time.  We  were  fifty  or  sixty  yards  away 
from  the  whale,  and  saw  something  else  that 
was  interesting,  though  too  close  at  hand  to  be 
pleasant.  That  whale,  the  same  that  over 
turned  the  boat,  reached  around  with  her 
flukes.  It  reminded  me  of  a  person  feeling 
for  something  that  he  could  not  see!  There 
seemed  to  be  sensitory  nerves  in  her  tail,  for 
when  the  corner  of  her  flukes  came  in  contact 
with  the  capsized  boat,  she  lifted  them,  gave 


134  There  She  Blows 

them  a  gentle  wave  in  the  air,  and  brought 
them  down  like  a  pile  driver  on  the  starboard 
boat — and  there  was  nothing  but  kindling  wood 
left.  After  demolishing  the  boat  the  cow 
sprung  at  once  into  her  flurry,  and  there  were 
two  more  not  far  away  also  in  their  death 
throes.  I  got  them  all  mixed  up,  and  was  un 
able  to  tell  one  from  the  other. 

In  the  midst  of  this  intense  action  I  had  not 
been  able  to  keep  track  of  the  other  three  boats, 
but  now  I  saw  they  were  near-by,  and  in  good 
shape.  Stoddard,  who  was  nearest,  found  op 
portunity  to  pick  up  the  starboard  boat  whale 
line,  and  fasten  a  drag  or  buoy  to  it  so  that 
the  whale  would  not  be  lost.  It  struck  me  with 
admiration  that  in  the  midst  of  such  a  turmoil 
a  man  should  so  preserve  his  coolness  and 
presence  of  mind.  It  was  characteristic  of  the 
class  to  which  he  belonged.  The  breed  was 
there  to  begin  with,  and  the  training  fostered 
an  intelligent  hardihood  hardly  conceivable  by 
the  average  man. 

The  whales  had  worked  away  from  us,  or 
perhaps  we  should  be  given  some  credit  for  the 
fact  that  we  were  no  longer  in  close  proximity, 
and  I  began  to  return  to  my  normal  frame  of 
mind.  It  is  amazing  how  quickly  one  becomes 


A  Whaling  Yarn  135 

accustomed  to  the  most  unusual  surroundings, 
and  I  actually  began  to  feel  at  home  in  my  novel 
situation,  and  wonder  what  would  be  the  end  of 
it.  I  saw  Morrison  and  Jonas  about  a  ship's 
length  away,  and  as  there  seemed  nothing  more 
urgent  I  went  over  to  them.  They  could  both 
swim,  and  were  making  good  weather  of  it. 
Manuel,  the  bow  oar,  like  many  of  his  country 
men,  was  not  much  of  a  water  dog,  and  was 
keeping  up  with  unnecessary  effort,  although 
the  density  of  the  ocean  was  such  that  it  made 
it  almost  impossible  to  sink  if  one  had  any 
notion  of  supporting  himself.  I  saw  an  oar 
tossing  on  top  of  a  wave  in  the  distance,  and 
secured  it  for  him.  After  that  he  was  easier  in 
his  mind,  though  no  safer  than  before.  By  this 
I  myself  began  to  have  some  curiosity  about  the 
length  of  time  it  was  probable  we  would  re 
main  floating  around,  and  I  said  to  the  fourth 
mate: 

"When  will  they  pick  us  up?" 

"When  they  get  their  whales  killed,"  he  re 
plied.  "Unless  they  have  some  trouble  finding 
the  ones  we  lanced.  Of  course  they  will  at 
tend  to  that  first.  They  won't  bother  about  us 
until  they  are  through  their  work." 

This  goes  to  show  the  point  of  view  of  a 


136  There  She  Blows 

whaleman  is  different  from  that  of  the  average 
citizen,  and  I  made  some  remark  of  the  kind  to 
Morrison.  I  think  he  hardly  understood  what 
I  was  driving  at,  for  he  only  said : 

"Why  should  they  mess  around  about  us? 
We'd  only  be  in  the  way  in  the  boats.  We'll 
be  all  right  enough  if  the  sharks  don't  show  up, 
and  the  chances  are  against  it." 

"Why  are  the  chances  against  it?"  I  asked, 
for  this  was  a  new  and  disturbing  thought.  I 
put  the  question  rather  anxiously,  for  my  ex 
perience  with  that  one  in  the  Indian  Ocean  had 
made  me  rather  timid  where  they  were  con 
cerned. 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "though  they  generally 
come  about  when  we  kill  whales  in  these  seas, 
they  get  the  scent  of  the  blood  from  the  ones 
that  have  been  lanced,  and  follow  it  right  up. 
They  don't  seem  to  notice  anything  else.  I 
suppose  if  they  happened  to  run  across  you 
they'd  take  hold,  but  not  otherwise." 

This  was  not  entirely  reassuring  to  one  in 
clined  to  be  nervous,  but  I  did  not  let  on  that 
I  was  not  contented  with  the  prospect.  At  all 
events,  I  am  happy  to  say  we  did  not  see  a  fin 
until  after  we  were  picked  up. 

After  all,  the  staunch  old  Avola  reached  us 


A  Whaling  Yarn  137 

before  the  boats  succeeded  in  killing  the  whales 
they  were  fast  to,  and  collecting  the  others  that 
had  died  of  lance  wounds.  She  managed  to 
beat  up  to  us  although  the  breeze  was  so  light 
it  took  her  fully  two  hours  to  make  the  mile 
or  two  of  distance. 

The  result  of  that  day's  work  was  nine 
whales,  and  the  captain  credited  three  of  them 
to  the  starboard  boat,  for  Stoddard  went  after 
the  one  we  had  struck  in  the  first  instance,  and 
got  it  after  killing  his  own.  His  foresight  in 
putting  that  drag  on  was  what  did  the  trick, 
and  enabled  him  to  find  her,  for  not  being 
touched  by  the  lance  she  had  the  strength  to 
"shove  junk"  quite  a  distance.  Captain 
Bourne  said  one  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  of  oil 
—that  was  his  estimate  of  what  our  cows 
would  stow  down — would  pay  for  a  number  of 
whale  boats,  and  anyhow  he  had  a  spare  one. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THOSE  nine  whales  kept  us  busy  for  the 
best  part  of  a  week.  While  we  were  try 
ing  out  the  blubber  an  incident  occurred  worth 
telling.  I  have  explained  how  the  horse 
pieces  were  sliced  in  the  mincing  machine,  and 
that  Big  Anton  was  the  feeder  to  it.  It  hap 
pened  I  had  temporarily  relieved  the  man 
whose  regular  duty  it  was  to  turn  the  heavy 
balance  wheel  furnishing  the  motive  power.  I 
noticed  Anton  was  careless  in  the  way  he  bore 
down  on  the  horse  pieces,  and  shoved  them 
through  the  trough  to  the  blade  of  the  knife. 
He  was  a  self-willed  fellow  and  I  hesitated  be 
fore  mentioning  my  views,  but  as  he  seemed  in 
danger  of  an  accident  I  finally  warned  him 
that  if  he  were  not  more  careful  he  would  lose 
some  of  his  fingers.  The  whole  crew  were 
wearied  to  the  verge  of  endurance  by  the  heavy 
labor  of  cutting  in,  and  his  temper  was  all  on 
edge.  He  glared  at  me  with  a  nasty  sneer  as 
I  spoke,  and  at  the  same  time  pressed  hard 
down  on  the  piece  of  blubber  he  was  guiding 

138 


A  Whaling  Yarn  139 

into  the  machine.  I  was  turning  that  heavy 
wheel,  and  had  it  going  at  the  rate  of  two  or 
three  hundred  revolutions  a  minute. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  harsh  cry  of  mingled 
rage  and  suffering,  and  staggered  back  flour 
ishing  his  right  hand  in  the  air.  A  fierce  jet 
of  blood  shot  out  of  it  like  water  from  a  squirt 
gun,  and  bespattered  the  deck  planks  ten  feet 
away.  I  dropped  my  wheel,  and  sprang  to  his 
assistance,  and  Tom  Morrison,  who  was  close 
at  hand,  got  his  arm  around  the  man's  waist. 
The  next  instant  he  toppled  over  in  a  dead 
faint,  but  the  fourth  mate  and  I  saved  him 
from  falling.  We  carried  him,  and  a  great 
hulk  of  a  man  he  was,  aft  to  the  captain  on  the 
quarter  deck,  and  put  him  down  with  his  head 
on  a  coil  of  rope.  We  were  all  three  so  covered 
with  blood  that  it  was  for  an  instant  doubtful 
to  Uncle  Zene  which  was  the  injured  one,  but 
it  never  took  the  Old  Man  long  to  get  his  wits 
together.  Almost  before  we  knew  it  he  had 
Big  Anton's  right  hand  in  a  bucket  of  salt 
water  that  he  had  conjured  from  somewhere. 
Then  we  saw  that  his  thumb  had  been  sheared 
off  close  to  his  hand  neatly  as  a  surgeon  could 
have  done  it.  The  blood  continued  to  flow  in 
intermittent  spurts,  and  when  the  captain  felt 


140  There  She  Blows 

his  pulse,  he  looked  grave.  Without  stopping 
to  say  a  word  he  snatched  the  silk  handkerchief 
from  about  his  neck,  and  tied  it  loosely  around 
Anton's  wrist  with  a  square  knot.  I  recog 
nized  his  intention  of  a  tourniquet,  and  handed 
him  a  belaying  pin  as  he  finished.  He  passed 
it  through  the  loop,  and  told  me  to  twist  it  until 
I  had  stopped  the  flow  of  arterial  blood: 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy!"  he  finished. 

He  ran  down  to  the  after  cabin,  and  brought 
up  a  bottle,  glass,  bandages,  and  a  lump  of 
rosin  large  as  your  fist.  I  had  tightened  the 
tourniquet  as  much  as  I  thought  advisable,  but 
he  gave  the  pin  an  extra  turn,  and  handed  me 
the  rosin,  saying: 

"Put  that  in  a  piece  of  canvas,  and  pound  it 
to  a  powder  without  losing  any.  It's  to  put  on 
his  thumb.  It  beats  cobwebs.  Give  me  your 
sheath  knife/' 

I  handed  it  to  him,  and  with  Tom's  assist 
ance  he  pried  the  big  fellow's  clenched  teeth 
apart,  and  poured  a  stiff  jolt  of  raw  brandy 
down  his  throat.  Anton  strangled,  gasped, 
and  spluttered.  Then  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
weakly  tried  to  rise.  The  Old  Man  pressed 
him  down  gently,  saying : 


A  Whaling  Yarn  141 

"Stay  there,  you  blamed  fool.  I'll  have  you 
all  right  in  a  moment." 

I  handed  him  the  powdered  rosin,  and  Mor 
rison  held  up  the  hand  while  the  captain  put  as 
much  of  the  powder  on  the  broad  stump  as  it 
would  hold.  Then  he  took  the  bandage  roll, 
and  swathed  it  neatly  and  securely  as  a  doctor, 
could  have  done. 

v  I  may  as  well  tell  the  rest  of  Big  Anton's 
story  while  I'm  about  it.  This  misfortune 
made  him  almost  useless  as  a  sailor  although 
the  wound  healed  marvellously.  He  was  of  no 
service  aloft,  for  he  had  not  grip  enough  to 
hang  on  in  a  tight  place,  and  the  loss  of  that 
thumb  seemed  to  incapacitate  him  for  almost 
every  thing  except  steering  and  lookout.  I 
never  before  realized  what  a  handicap  the  loss 
of  a  thumb  is,  although  I  had  read  of  it  in  the 
Old  Testament.  Anyhow  his  uselessness  and 
helplessness  took  all  the  heart  out  of  poor 
Anton.  From  being  a  bold,  aggressive  fellow, 
and  a  bit  of  a  bully,  he  became  a  whining, 
querulous  invalid  entirely  out  of  place  in  a 
ship's  crew.  The  Old  Man  discharged  him  in 
Singapore  a  year  later,  and  the  consul  sent  him 
home  to  New  Bedford,  where  he  had  kin.  But 


142  There  She  Blows 

he  died  on  the  passage — of  heart  disease,  I 
heard — and  that  was  the  end  of  him.  Such  is 
a  sailor's  career. 

We  put  in  several  months  cruising  on  these 
New  Ireland  grounds.  It  was  easy,  loafing 
work,  for  we  were  always  under  shortened 
canvas,  and  in  the  intense  watch  for  whales  the 
ordinary  tasks  the  officers  were  so  ingenious 
in  providing  to  tide  us  over  dull  times  were 
neglected.  An  occasional  pull  on  the  halliards, 
and  now  and  then  a  shift  of  the  braces,  apart 
from  the  wheel  and  lookouts,  made  the  sum  of 
our  duties  when  we  did  not  have  whales  in 
sight.  It  became  very  tedious  in  time,  and  al 
most  any  break  in  the  monotony  was  welcomed, 
and  that  reminds  me  that  we  experienced  an 
earthquake  one  day. 

I  was  at  the  wheel.  We  had  a  five  knot 
breeze,  and  were  sliding  along  over  a  smooth 
sea,  for  a  wonder  out  of  sight  of  the  coast  of 
New  Ireland,  which  we  had  been  hugging  for 
weeks.  The  Old  Man  was  leaning  against  the 
binnacle,  and  was  about  to  speak  to  me  when 
the  Avola  gave  a  shiver  like  a  wounded  whale. 
The  rigging  quivered  and  shook,  and  as  our 
eyes  met,  a  grating,  rumbling  noise  passed 
along  the  keel.  I  dropped  my  wheel  like  a  hot 


A  Whaling  Yarn  143 

brick,  and  leaping  to  the  rail,  gazed  over  the 
stern,  expecting  to  see  some  discoloration  in  the 
water  to  show  where  we  had  scraped  the  bot 
tom.  The  Old  Man's  grizzled  head  bobbed 
alongside  of  me  as  I  searched  the  surface,  and 
he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  he  saw  the 
wave  was  deeply  blue  as  always. 

"Go  back  to  your  wheel,  Ned,"  he  said,  "I 
guess  it's  nothing  but  an  earthquake !" 

The  Old  Man's  sense  of  proportion  did  not 
Correspond  with  mine.  Nothing  but  an  earth 
quake!  Nevertheless  when  he  explained  that 
these  events  were  not  uncommon,  and  ordi 
narily  harmless,  and  that  he  had  experienced 
two  previously,  I  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  it  was  easier  to  contemplate  one  than  it 
was  to  run  the  bark  on  a  reef. 

It  was  about  this  time  we  all  began  to  take 
notice  something  was  amiss  with  Portuguese 
John,  the  second  mate's  boatsteerer.  He  was  a 
slight,  elderly  man,  almost  black,  but  with 
clean  cut,  delicate  features  that  denied  the 
presence  of  negro  blood.  He  was  probably  of 
Moorish  descent,  and  a  certain  personal  fas 
tidiousness  that  he  managed  to  maintain  even 
in  the  close  companionship  unavoidable  in  such 
a  life  as  ours,  confirmed  the  impression  that 


144  There  She  Blows 

eastern  rather  than  Latin  blood  ran  in  his  veins. 
He  was  reputed  to  be  a  more  experienced 
whaleman  than  even  the  Old  Man,  and  his 
countrymen  in  the  forecastle  regarded  him  with 
a  respect  that  was  near  to  reverence.  John 
was  courteous  in  manner,  although  silent  and 
reserved.  Stoddard  regarded  him  as  the  best 
man  in  a  boat  he  had  ever  lowered  with.  I  had 
heard  from  the  beginning  of  the  voyage  that 
John  was  devout  in  mind,  and  framed  his  daily 
life  on  religious  principles. 

We  noticed  John  was  forming  a  habit  of 
talking  to  himself.  His  lips  moved  constantly 
when  he  was  not  occupied  in  some  task  that  en 
grossed  him,  and  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
so  frequently  it  seemed  automatic.  One  night 
when  I  had  started  to  the  scuttle  butt  for  a 
drink,  I  almost  fell  over  John  on  his  knees  in 
the  waist.  He  did  not  notice  me,  though  I 
stood  out  plain  in  the  moonlight,  but  went  on 
waving  his  arms  on  high,  and  talking  in  a 
rapid,  monotonous  voice  that  had  earnest  sup 
plication  in  its  tones.  I  drew  back,  and  met 
Morrison  at  the  vice  bench.  He  beckoned  me, 
and  we  went  forward  of  the  windlass,  out  of 
hearing  of  the  watch. 

"You  saw  him,  didn't  you  ?"  he  asked.     "It's 


A  Whaling  Yarn  145 

queer,  and  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  old 
John.  He's  been  at  this  two  days  every  chance 
he  gets.  He's  as  good  a  man  as  ever  broke 
blackskin,  but  I  fear  he's  turning  soft." 

We  talked  the  matter  over,  and  at  my  sug 
gestion  the  fourth  mate  agreed  to  tell  the  facts 
to  the  captain,  and  let  him  take  action  if  he 
thought  necessary.  The  next  night  Morrison 
told  me  he  had  informed  Uncle  Zene  about 
John,  and  the  captain  advised  to  take  no  notice. 
He  thought  it  religious  mania,  and  it  might,  or 
might  not  prove  serious. 

No  one  could  have  foretold  the  strange  and 
tragic  ending  of  old  John's  queerness,  and  I 
may  as  well  relate  it  here,  although  the  cir 
cumstances  occurred  some  days  after. 

Mr.  Fletcher  raised  the  whale  in  the  morning 
watch.  It  was  a  lone  bull  breaching  a  long 
distance  to  the  windward.  It  took  the  bluff- 
bowed  Avola  three  hours  to  beat  up  where  the 
lonely  monarch  could  be  seen  from  deck. 
Fletcher  scanned  the  whale  long  and  closely, 
while  it  lay  spouting.  Suddenly  he  hailed  the 
deck: 

"I  never  seen  a  sperm  bull  like  this  one, 
Captain  Bourne.  He's  queer,  and  no  mis 
take!" 


146  There  She  Blows 

The  Old  Man,  pacing  his  quarter  as  usual 
like  a  penned  animal,  paused  in  his  stride,  and 
looked  inquiringly  aloft: 

"What  do  you  make  of  him,  sir?" 

"I'm  blowed  if  he's  a  protestant!"  replied 
Fletcher,  with  a  brief  chuckle.  "He's  marked 
with  a  cross  on  his  head." 

Portugee  John,  who  stood  by  the  new  star 
board  boat  near  Uncle  Zene,  gave  a  convulsive 
start  as  the  whale  was  described,  and  seemed 
about  to  speak,  but  he  restrained  himself. 
Fletcher  continued : 

"Seems  like  the  cross  was  painted  on  with 
white  lead.  The  long  streak  goes  from  the 
nose  to  the  hump,  and  the  cross  bar  reaches 
clear  athwart  his  head." 

Captain  Bourne  happened  to  glance  at  the 
boatsteerer,  and  to  his  surprise  John's  swarthy 
face  had  turned  the  dull  blue  which  takes  the 
place  of  emotional  paleness  in  men  of  his  com 
plexion. 

"What  is  it,  John?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

The  boatsteerer's  voice  was  husky,  and  he 
shivered  as  he  answered,  pointing  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  whale : 

"Sacred  Ben,  sir,  the  Whale  of  the  Cross!" 

"Hey!"  exclaimed  the  Old  Man  with  an  ex- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  147 

pression  of  deep  interest.  "I've  heard  of  him. 
He's  got  a  bad  record !" 

Portugee  John  moved  nearer,  and  laid  his 
unsteady  hand  on  the  master's  arm. 

"Capitan,"  he  said  in  a  strained  whisper, 
"that  whale  mean  Death!  He  kill  my  broth' 
three  year  ago  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  many 
more !  He  stove  three  boats  of  the  Mary,  and 
get  away  with  four  irons,  an'  all  the  lines.  I 
know,  for  I  was  there !  My  broth',  Anton,  he 
steer  Misser  Brown,  the  mate,  an'  all  that  boat 
crew  Sacred  Ben  he  kill.  And  many  more! 
I  hear  of  him  in  other  ships.  He  always  kill, 
and  always  get  away!" 

"I  heard  something  of  the  Mary  losing  her 
boats.  I  was  in  the  Okhotsk  that  year,"  replied 
Uncle  Zene.  "Well,  what  of  it,  John?" 

"Capitan,  for  Christ  his  sake,  do  not  lower 
after  the  Whale  of  the  Cross !" 

The  sailor  in  Uncle  Zene  quaked  a  moment 
because  of  the  superstition  begot  by  the  sea. 
Then  the  tough,  Yankee  spirit  of  the  old  New 
England  whale  hunter  surged  up  in  his  breast : 

"Sacred  Ben  will  try  out  like  any  other 
whale,  I  reckon !"  he  grimly  said. 

John  made  the  sign  of  his  faith.  He  saw  the 
skipper's  jaw  set,  and  knew  the  breed.  With 


148  There  She  Blows 

the  instinctive  gesture  he  resigned  his  welfare 
to  the  care  of  his  patron  saint,  and  braced 
himself  to  do  his  duty — whatever  might  be 
fall.  The  Old  Man  took  his  glass  from  the 
companion-way  rack,  and  climbed  the  weather 
rigging  to  a  height  where  he  could  see  the 
bull  plainly. 

"The  Whale  of  the  Cross  right  enough !"  he 
murmured  when  he  had  adjusted  his  focus. 
"I'll  give  him  a  whirl  for  luck!"  Then  he 
snapped  his  glass  together,  and  roared:  "Stand 
by  to  lower  away!" 

The  masthead  lookouts  seemed  to  drop  to 
the  deck.  The  crew,  on  hot  foot  since  Fletch 
er's  first  call  from  aloft,  ranged  themselves  at 
their  stations. 

"Lower  away  all !" 

The  falls  creaked ;  in  a  twinkle  all  four  boats 
touched  the  water,  and  the  men  were  on  their 
thwarts.  Stoddard,  with  Portugee  John  pull 
ing  the  harpooner  oar,  was  first  away  from 
the  side: 

"Vast  pulling!"  commanded  the  second  mate. 
"Peak  oars!  Step  the  mast!  Shake  that  sail 
loose !  Throat  and  peak  halliards  hoist !" 

Almost  as  he  spoke  the  well-drilled  men  had 


A  Whaling  Yarn.  149 

the  mast  secured,  the  sheet  aft,  and  the  sail 
took  the  wind. 

"Drop  your  center  board.  Let  her  go!"  he 
said  to  the  midship  oarsman. 

Down  it  went,  and  held  the  boat  up  to  the 
wind  as  Stoddard  laid  her  head  straight  for 
Sacred  Ben. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 


all!"  Stoddard's  crew  lay  back  on 
their  oars,  and  the  foam  curled  from  the 
cutwater.  The  second  mate  —  the  only  man  in 
the  boat  with  his  face  to  the  whale  —  looked 
out  ahead  with  a  dancing  devil  in  his  gray 
eye.  His  blood  was  afire  with  the  chase.  The 
Whale  of  the  Cross,  doughty  old  sea  warrior 
as  he  was,  had  an  antagonist  who  would  tax 
his  art  and  test  his  fighting  quality.  A  mile- 
two  miles  —  were  passed,  and  the  black  bulk 
lay  ahead,  looming  like  a  bare  rock  in  mid 
ocean.  His  great  hump  was  six  feet  above  the 
sea.  At  times  he  spouted,  sending  a  jet  of 
steam  and  spray  twenty  feet  in  the  air,  and 
anon  in  the  wantonness  of  might  he  thrust  his 
huge  body  half  above  the  surface  with  a  writhe 
of  his  muscles,  and  falling  back  splintered  the 
brine  a  hundred  yards  around. 

Nearer  came  the  boat.  Portugee  John, 
watching  Stoddard's  eye,  saw  it  glow  as  the 
dancing  devil  leaped  with  madder  bounds,  but 
he  never  turned  his  head,  though  he  knew 

150 


A  Whaling  Yarn  151 

Sacred  Ben  was  close  aboard.  Then  the  second 
mate  spoke  again,  as  he  threw  the  boat's  nose 
in  the  wind — this  time  in  a  strained  whisper, 
that  shivered  along  the  men's  nerves  like  an 
electric  current: 

"Take  in  the  sail — cleverly!  Down  with  the 
mast.  So !  Stand  up,  John !  Pull,  the  rest  of 
you!  Pull  hard!" 

He  accompanied  the  last  order  with  a  swing 
on  his  steering  oar,  and  by  the  time  John  had 
knee  in  clumsy  cleat  and  hand  on  iron,  he  was 
facing  the  Whale  of  the  Cross,  not  ten  feet 
abaft  his  fin.  John,  though  dago,  was  grit  to 
his  toe  nails,  and  despite  his  shaking  hand 
when  the  whale  was  sighted,  intended  to  send 
his  harpoon  home  if  it  proved  his  own  death 
warrant. 

"Give  it  to  him !" 

Stoddard  spoke  in  a  fierce  whisper,  and  with 
startling  vehemence.  The  hearts  of  the  men 
leaped,  and  they  gripped  oars  in  arrested  stroke 
with  fingers  of  steel  that  dented  the  ash.  Por- 
tugee  John's  iron  flashed  above  his  head  like 
lightning,  and  with  a  swish  the  barbed  point 
sung  through  the  air  and  stabbed  deep  in  the 
side  of  Sacred  Ben.  Like  report  of  gun  after 
touch  of  trigger  he  responded.  He  sprang 


152  There  She  Blows 

into  activity  as  lightly  as  a  wild  cat  meets 
its  foe. 

"Starn  all!  For  your  lives  starn  all!"  bel 
lowed  the  second  mate. 

With  their  souls  in  the  strain  the  crew 
pushed  on  their  oars.  A  maelstrom  of  blind 
ing  foam  encompassed  them.  Angry  whirl 
pools  spurted  vicious  gushes  over  the  boat's 
side,  and  a  deafening  rush  of  waters  was  in 
John's  ears,  while  the  boat  reeled  and  danced 
beneath  his  feet.  But  the  latent  tiger  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  was  aroused,  and  he  did 
not  give  back  an  inch.  Wiping  the  spume  from 
his  face  with  his  left  hand,  with  the  right  he 
sought  and  grasped  the  second  iron. 

Stoddard  at  the  stern,  for  a  moment  had  a 
clearer  view  than  his  boatsteerer,  and  he  cried: 

"See!    He's  milling!" 

So  it  was.  The  bull  had  settled  in  the  water 
at  the  prick  of  the  steel,  and  with  two  strokes 
of  his  fins,  and  a  lash  of  his  tail — which  had 
caused  the  vortex — he  was  turning  his  bulk,  as 
though  on  a  pivot,  with  the  effect  of  bringing 
his  flukes  underneath  the  whaleboat.  Stoddard 
was  too  old  a  blubber  hunter  not  to  know  what 
that  meant.  An  upward  stroke  of  that  tre 
mendous  engine  of  destruction  would  send  boat 


A  Whaling  Yarn  153 

and  crew  fifty  feet  in  the  air,  as  though  thrown 
aloft  by  an  exploding  mine.  He  gave  a  great 
heave  on  his  steering  oar,  and  the  boat  whirled 
about.  John  stood,  harpoon  uplifted.  His 
eyes,  searching  the  spinning  eddies  in  front, 
saw  the  flukes  of  the  Whale  of  the  Cross, 
curved  like  a  bow,  ascending  from  the  depths. 

Stoddard  bent  to  his  oar  again,  and  the  boat 
swung  from  the  rising  Death.  The  second 
mate  did  his  utmost,  but  even  as  the  bow 
turned  the  great  tail  came  up  from  the  sea, 
smoothly,  silently,  as  though  driven  by  some 
irresistible  mechanical  force.  John  gazed  at 
the  black  horror  in  momentary  paralysis,  his 
iron  raised  for  the  second  dart.  Its  point  was 
caught  by  the  corner  of  the  fluke,  and  flipped, 
as  a  boy  jerks  his  knife  in  mumblety  peg.  The 
harpoon  turned  on  its  axis — and  John  was 
impaled  on  it.  In  continuance  of  the  motion 
the  flukes  rose  high  in  air,  and  then  sank  from 
sight.  Sacred  Ben  had  sounded,  and  the  line 
hissed  over  Portugee  John's  body  through  the 
chocks  in  the  bow. 

There  is  no  time  for  horror  in  a  whale  boat. 
All  is  action.  The  men,  scarcely  realizing  the 
tragedy,  but  knowing  the  whale  to  be  fast, 
peaked  their  oars.  Stoddard  reached  for  the 


154  There  She  Blows 

line  and  tossed  two  flakes  from  the  tub  to  give 
play,  that  he  might  bring  it  over  the  snubbing 
post  in  the  stern  sheets.  It  coiled  through  his 
hands  like  a  serpent,  and  in  the  very  act  of 
accomplishing  his  purpose  a  flake  leaped  in  the 
air,  and,  opening  like  the  loop  of  a  cowboy's 
lasso,  dropped  over  his  shoulders.  For  a  sec 
ond  it  seemed  nothing  could  save  him  from 
being  cut  in  two.  By  the  Almighty's  grace 
the  bow  oarsman  happened  to  see  the  fatal 
loop  as  it  fell.  In  a  heartbeat  his  sheath  knife 
flashed  and  the  line  was  severed  before  it  had 
time  to  nip.  Stoddard  cast  the  loosened  coil 
from  his  body,  and  settled  back  in  the  stern 
sheets. 

"I  guess  you  saved  my  bacon,"  he  said  to  the 
bow  oarsman.  "Now,  look  to  John.  I'm 
afraid  this  cussed  Whale  of  the  Cross  has  fixed 
him." 

They  turned  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  found 
the  harpoon  he  had  bent  against  Sacred  Ben 
had  cloven  his  own  brave  heart  in  twain. 

We  in  the  other  boats  had  not  been  able  to 
get  an  iron  into  Sacred  Ben.  He  seemed  to 
have  departed.  Mr.  Stoddard  returned  to  the 
Avola  with  poor  John's  body,  and  the  other 
three  boats  waited,  hoping  the  Whale  of  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  155 

Cross  would  reappear,  but  he  must  have  risen 
to  the  surface  too  far  away  for  us  to  detect. 
So  we  returned  also,  and  arrived  in  time  to  eat 
dinner  at  the  usual  hour. 

The  Portuguese  mourned  greatly  over  the 
death  of  the  old  boatsteerer,  and  his  tragic  fate 
cast  a  shadow  over  the  whole  ship's  company, 
aft  as  well  as  forward,  but  as  things  turned 
out  we  did  not  have  much  time  to  waste  in 
grieving.  The  starboard  watch  finished  its 
dinner  and  turned  in  when — 
"There  she  white  waters !  There  she  blows !" 
I  bounced  on  deck,  knowing  in  my  heart  it 
was  Sacred  Ben  again,  and  sure  enough  the 
mate  at  the  masthead  called  down  in  a  minute 
to  the  captain  with  some  excitement: 

"It's  that  same  whale,  sir ;  cross  and  all !" 
"Aye,  aye,"  returned  the  Old  Man,  as  if 
not  surprised.     "Whereabouts  does  he  lie?" 
"Two  miles  off.    Dead  to  windward." 
Uncle  Zene  nodded  thoughtfully : 
"Keep  your  eye  on  him,  Mr.  Haveron,  and 
sing  out  every  move  he  makes.     I've  got  an 
account  to  settle  with  him."     Then  he  faced 
forward :    "All  hands  on  deck !"    We  were  all 
there.     "Rip  this  main  hatch  cover  off!     Both 
of   them!     Mr.    Stoddard,   get   down   'tween 


156  There  She  Blows 

decks  with  a  gang  and  pick  out  the  best  six 
teen  barrel  cask  you  can  find.  Rig  a  tackle, 
and  send  it  on  deck.  Lose  no  time." 

The  second  mate  looked  mystified,  but  he 
obeyed.  He,  and  Morrison,  and  Jonas,  and  I 
were  below  among  the  empties  in  a  jiffy,  while 
Fletcher  was  getting  a  tackle  in  the  rigging. 
We  selected  a  sound,  new  cask,  and  got  it 
where  we  could  hook  on.  As  it  arose  above  the 
hatch  coamings,  and  we  scrambled  out,  we 
found  Bungs,  tools  in  hand,  awaiting  us.  The 
Old  Man  stood  over  him  while  he  drove  those 
hoops  down  until  the  cask  was  as  tight  as  a 
newly-corked  champagne  bottle.  While  this 
was  doing,  he  told  Fletcher  to  let  the  tackle 
remain,  and  directed  Morrison  to  bring  five  or 
six  fathom  of  new  whale  line.  He  was  very 
much  in  earnest,  and  the  others  watched  with 
deep  interest  to  see  the  outcome.  I  smelt  a 
scheme  to  bedevil  Sacred  Ben,  and  began  to 
hope  Uncle  Zene  would  himself  lower  to  take 
charge  of  the  campaign  against  the  tremendous 
fighter  who  had  killed  our  shipmate.  When 
Bungs  was  through  the  captain  harnessed  the 
cask  with  that  line,  and  ended  all  with  a  becket 
so  firmly  attached  it  could  not  get  adrift.  He 


A  Whaling-  Yarn  157 

stood  off,  and  surveyed  it  carefully,  and  nodded 
in  satisfaction: 

"I  am  going  to  get  that  blasted  Whale  of 
the  Cross,"  he  said  to  the  attentive  officers. 
"And  I  don't  want  to  lose  any  more  men,  or 
even  a  boat  doing  it ;  so  I'm  going  to  give  him 
this  cask  to  kind  of  chew  on,  as  you  might  say. 
We'll  get  fast  to  him — if  we  can — and  carry 
the  line  to  this  cask,  and  bend  on  to  it.  Then 
the  boats  can  light  out,  and  he  can  have  his 
fun  pounding  the  cask.  I  don't  reckon  he'll 
damage  it  so's  to  hurt.  When  he's  got  some 
of  the  ginger  out  of  him,  we'll  try  him  with 
the  lance." 

There  was  rejoicing  among  the  officers  over 
the  Old  Man's  plans,  and  I  saw  they  approved 
of  his  idea.  Only  Mr.  Stoddard  looked  glum, 
and  he  suddenly  said : 

"I  want  to  get  square  on  that  fellow  myself, 
and  how  am  I  going  to  lower  without  a  boat- 
steerer?" 

"I'll  fix  you  up,  sir,"  Uncle  Zene  answered. 
"I'm  going  down  myself,  so  Mr.  Morrison  will 
steer  me,  and  you  can  take  Fayal  Joe." 

Stoddard's  brow  cleared,  and  we  got  the  cask 
overboard.  As  the  wind  was  light,  and  we 


158  There  She  Blows 

could  make  better  time  in  the  boats,  we  lowered 
at  once.  It  was  a  heavy  pull  with  the  cask,  but 
we  hitched  on  tandem.  An  hour  brought  us 
to  the  neighborhood  of  Sacred  Ben,  who  gam 
bolled  innocently,  as  if  the  burden  of  John's 
murder  did  not  weigh  heavily  on  him.  The 
captain  now  ordered  the  other  three  boats  to 
spread  and  come  on  the  whale  from  all  four 
points  of  the  compass.  The  one  lucky  enough 
to  get  fast  was  to  let  the  line  run,  and  attach 
it  to  the  barrel  as  quickly  as  possible.  It  was 
expected  to  occupy  the  entire  attention  of  the 
Whale  of  the  Cross,  at  least  long  enough  to 
allow  the  boats  to  get  to  a  safe  distance. 

We  let  the  cask  drift,  and  started  for  the 
whale  when  the  others  had  gone  far  enough 
to  make  up  for  our  being  the  nearest.  Then  all 
the  boats  made  a  "white  ash"  breeze,  and  we 
approached  him  without  any  attempt  at  con 
cealment.  The  Old  Man  told  me  as  we  pulled 
that  Sacred  Ben  was  as  wise  a  "rogue"  as  any 
elephant  that  ever  bamboozled  its  hunters,  and 
possibly  had  a  very  good  idea  that  we  were 
preparing  to  attack  at  the  present  time. 

"Once  in  a  while,"  he  said,  "a  whale  that 
has  been  a  good  deal  hunted  gets  wise  to  all 
the  tricks  of  the  game,  and  if  he's  vicious  into 


A  Whaling  Yarn  159 

the  bargain,  as  the  Whale  of  the  Cross  appears 
to  be,  he's  as  deadly  as  a  gatling  gun.  It'll  be  a 
good  thing  for  the  whole  fleet  if  we  can  stow 
this  fellow  down." 

I  could  not  avoid  reflecting  that  Ben  seemed 
fully  as  likely  to  stow  us  down  as  we  were  to 
perform  the  function  on  his  behalf,  but  the 
captain  spoke  again,  this  time  to  the  fourth 
mate : 

"He's  pointing  this  way,  and  I'm  going  to 
take  him  head  on.  Stand  up,  sir,  and  dart  high 
and  far!" 

Of  course  I  could  not  see,  having  my  back 
to  the  whale,  but  this  is  what  happened.  When 
Morrison  got  up  he  was  facing  Sacred  Ben's 
head,  end  on.  Tom  said  his  mouth  was  open, 
showing  thirty-two  teeth  in  the  lower  jaw, 
each  a  foot  and  a  half  long.  (This  was  an 
exaggeration,  for  I  afterward  measured  one.) 
He  was  a  ship's  length  distant,  but  could  not 
see  us  because  his  eyes  were  set  in  his  head 
relatively  as  a  human  being's  ears  are,  and  so 
imbedded  in  flesh  he  cannot  squint  outside  his 
direct  line  of  vision.  Stoddard  was  the  same 
distance  on  his  port  side,  and  Fletcher  on  the 
starboard.  Mr.  Haveron  was  closer  on  the 
port  side,  and  further  down  towards  his  flukes. 


160  There  She  Blows 

Uncle  Zene  gave  no  order  to  Tom,  but  I 
saw  his  teeth  clinch,  and  his  jaw  set  hard  when 
the  moment  came.  Then  the  fourth  mate 
darted,  and  yelled: 

"All  fast,  sir!" 

The  Old  Man  gave  a  heave  on  his  oar  that 
turned  the  whale  boat  in  a  course  at  right 
angles  to  the  one  we  had  held,  and  roared : 

"NOW,  blast  you,  PULL!!!" 

We  pulled.  I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time, 
but  by  the  most  astonishing  good  fortune,  the 
three  other  boatsteerers  all  got  their  first  irons 
in  at  the  same  time  Morrison  made  fast,  and 
there  was  Sacred  Ben  apparently  in  the  toils. 
What  follows  came  as  quickly  as  light  travels. 
His  first  move  was  a  sidewise  slash  with  his 
flukes.  It  caught  Mr.  Haveron's  boat  and 
crumpled  it  into  a  handful  of  sticks.  One  of 
the  crew,  a  Flores  man,  was  struck,  and  I  be 
lieve  he  never  knew  what  hit  him.  He  was 
dead  as  a  door  nail  when  we  picked  him  up, 
and  his  face  was  smiling  as  if  he  had  died  in 
his  bed. 

When  the  Old  Man  changed  the  course  of 
the  starboard  boat,  the  new  one  brought  us 
squarely  across  the  line  of  vision  of  the  mad 
dened  Whale  of  the  Cross,  and  he  seemed  to 


A  Whaling  Yarn  161 

act  with  the  intelligent  ferocity  of  a  fighting 
bull  dog.  I  suppose  he  was  not  aware  of  Stod- 
dard  or  Fletcher,  or  perhaps  he  left  them  till 
he  had  more  time.  At  any  rate  his  next  move 
was  clearly  directed  against  us.  Simultan 
eously  with  demolishing  Haveron,  he  settled 
in  the  water,  and  began  milling  so  as  to  turn 
those  horrible  jaws  on  the  starboard  boat, 
actually  gnashing  them.  Morrison  had  not 
taken  his  thwart  when  we  pulled  in  response 
to  the  captain's  appeal.  Now  he  (I  heard  all 
this  after)  cast  off  the  lashing  of  a  lance,  and 
was  ready  to  fight  back,  undaunted  by  the  dis 
proportionate  size  of  his  adversary.  As  Sacred 
Ben  came  around  he  sent  the  steel  into  his  neck 
as  far  as  it  would  go  for  the  wooden  shaft. 
In  a  second  he  had  it  back  by  the  warp,  and 
rammed  it  home  again. 

"Hurrah !"  shouted  the  Old  Man.  "Hurrah, 
Tom !  He  cannot  stand  the  gaff !  He's  sound 
ing!" 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE  Captain  was  right.  Sacred  Ben  was  a 
fighter,  but  when  it  came  to  serving  as  pin 
cushion  with  Tom  Morrison's  lance  as  pin,  and 
the  jabs  penetrating  his  body  eight  or  ten  feet 
every  time,  he  reconsidered  his  intention  of 
eating  our  boat,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
below  out  of  sight  a  bit,  and  think  up  some 
other  scheme.  He  sounded  with  the  earnest 
ness  characteristic  of  his  disposition,  and  the 
line  ran  out  like  wild  fire. 

The  second  mate  had  started  for  the  floating 
cask  the  moment  he  was  sure  Fayal  Joe's  iron 
would  hold  in  the  Whale  of  the  Cross,  and  as 
we  had  time  to  take  stock,  Uncle  Zene  saw  he 
was  bending  his  line  on  to  the  becket  prepared 
with  so  much  care.  When  he  had  secured  it 
firmly,  he  waved  his  hand  to  the  captain,  and 
shouted: 

"If  he  goes  much  deeper,  sir,  he'll  have  to 
take  the  cask  along!" 

There  were  only  about  twenty  fathoms  of 
162 


A  Whaling  Yarn  163 

line  between  the  buoy  and  the  whale.  It  was 
likely  the  fun  would  soon  begin.  The  Old  Man 
cut  our  line,  and  Fletcher  did  the  same.  Mr. 
Fletcher  was  directed  to  salvage  the  crew  of 
the  "stove"  boat,  and  return  to  the  Avola  with 
them.  Mr.  Stoddard  stood  by  us  to  see  what 
Sacred  Ben's  next  move  would  be.  We  lay 
at  ease  with  peaked  oars,  and  kept  our  eyes  on 
that  cask.  It  floated  high  on  the  water,  and 
danced  lightly  from  wave  to  wave.  The  becket 
with  the  line  attached  was  at  the  highest  point 
on  the  very  top.  In  a  moment  the  great  cask 
turned  over  with  a  jerk  that  made  the  foam 
fly,  and  passed  out  of  sight  in  the  depths  like 
the  cork  on  a  fish  line  when  a  bull  head  gets  a 
hold.  The  Old  Man's  features  twisted  into 
a  grim  smile,  and  he  said : 

"Even  Sacred  Ben  won't  take  that  down  far 
with  twenty  fathoms  of  line  out,  and  the  den 
sity  of  the  water  increasing  with  every  foot!" 

That  put  plainly  before  me  what  a  tremen 
dous  drag  it  was,  and  I  realized  the  super 
human  powers  possessed  by  the  great  sea 
mammal.  Then  it  burst  upon  me  that  we  had 
the  Whale  of  the  Cross,  sixty  tons  in  weight 
if  a  pound,  hooked  much  as  a  boy  catches  a 


164  There  She  Blows 

perch.  If  the  hook  in  the  perch's  mouth,  or 
the  iron  in  Ben's  blubber,  did  not  draw  out, 
we  had  him  sure  in  the  end. 

It  was  not  long  reckoned  by  real  time,  instead 
of  heartbeats,  before  the  buoy  came  shooting 
to  the  surface  with  such  velocity  it  showed  a 
foot  of  sky  between  it  and  the  sea.  The  next 
instant  the  water  broke  again,  and  this  time  the 
grim,  menacing  front  of  Sacred  Ben  came  in 
view.  He  emerged  a  hundred  feet  from  the 
cask,  and  in  such  a  position  that  it  was  plainly 
visible.  He  made  for  it  as  savagely  as  a  ter 
rier  goes  for  a  rat.  His  nose  struck,  and 
pushed  it  before  him.  He  opened  his  huge 
jaws,  and  engulfed  it.  It  was  fairly  in  his 
mouth,  and  he  tried  to  crush  it.  Enormous  as 
was  the  power  of  those  jaws,  he  did  not  succeed. 
It  was  a  tough  and  awkward  mouthful,  too 
large  for  him  to  get  a  good  grip  on,  and  of 
such  slippery  resistance  in  the  smooth,  rounded 
oak  staves  that  his  utmost  efforts  were  foiled. 

Sacred  Ben  realized  that  his  attempts  to  de 
stroy  this  mysterious  disturber  of  his  peace 
were  futile,  and  he  seemed  to  reflect  a  mo 
ment — we  breathlessly  looking  on  at  a  safe 
distance — before  he  devised  a  new  scheme. 
Then  he  fell  back,  and  milled  around  until  he 


A  Whaling  Yarn  165 

felt  the  cask  with  his  flukes.  He  raised  this 
thirty-ton  hammer  high  in  air  and  brought  it 
down  upon  the  intruder  on  his  domain.  The 
cask  was  undaunted.  It  was  driven  ten  feet 
beneath  the  water,  but  it  bounced  back  cheer 
fully  with  uninjured  staves,  and  as  impudently 
buoyant  as  before.  The  Whale  of  the  Cross 
carefully  measured  his  distance,  and  let  drive 
again.  The  impact  caught  the  buoy  nearer 
one  end  this  time,  and  instead  of  going  under 
water  it  turned  two  or  three  summersaults 
with  a  tremendous  splashing.  And  then  it 
floated  as  indomitable  as  ever.  Sacred  Ben 
was  puzzled,  but  not  at  the  end  of  his  tether. 
He  tried  a  new  device.  If  he  could  not  get 
this  queer  animal  that  defied  him  one  way,  he 
would  another.  It  was  something  like  the  old 
trick  Hercules  used  when  he  found  Atlas 
gained  renewed  strength  with  each  contact 
with  the  earth.  Now  Ben  manoeuvred  with  the 
utmost  accuracy  until  he  got  those  flukes  fairly 
under  the  enemy.  They  swished  upwards  as 
if  driven  by  a  mighty  engine,  and  the  cask  was 
flung  fifty  feet  aloft  like  a  huge  stone  from  a 
catapult,  but  to  the  bewilderment  of  the  Whale 
of  the  Cross  it  came  down  without  a  fracture, 
and  to  add  insult  to  injury,  landed  on  the  back 


1 66  There  She  Blows 

of  his  neck.  This  inexplicable  result  was  too 
much  for  Sacred  Ben.  He  gave  it  up,  and 
sounded  again. 

We  watched  these  proceedings  with  the  ut 
most  delight.  Uncle  Zene  actually  danced  up 
and  down  in  the  stern  sheets,  and  hugged 
himself  in  his  satisfaction: 

"We've  got  him,  darn  his  skin!"  he  ex 
claimed.  Then  he  added :  "Ain't  it  great !  I 
never  saw  the  like  of  it  in  my  born  days !" 

Before  long  that  cask  disappeared  beneath 
the  wave  again,  but  I  thought  there  was  a 
shade  less  vim  in  the  jerk  that  took  it  down. 
The  captain's  vigilant  eye  noted  this  as  well, 
and  he  remarked  over  my  head  to  Morrison, 
with  a  return  to  his  official  manner: 

"The  exercise  is  telling  on  him,  sir.  He's 
too  big  to  work  as  hard  as  he  has  for  the  last 
twenty  minutes  without  getting  tuckered.  Like 
enough  you'll  get  a  chance  to  put  that  lance 
into  him  again  the  next  time  he  comes  up." 

Mr.  Stoddard  had  moved  up  near  us,  and  the 
captain  directed  him  to  spread  out  farther,  so 
if  the  boats  got  another  opportunity  they  could 
come  on  him  from  opposite  sides.  He  pulled 
past  where  he  thought  the  bedevilled  whale 
would  rise,  and  lay  watching.  Ben  did  not 


A  Whaling  Yarn  167 

remain  under  so  long  this  time,  which  in  it 
self  was  a  sign  of  approaching  exhaustion.  In 
less  than  five  minutes  the  cask  appeared,  fol 
lowed  after  a  short  interval  by  the  whale.  He 
was  still  unconquered,  and  made  directly  for 
the  buoy.  He  tried  again  to  bite  it,  and  man 
aged  some  way  to  get  the  line  in  his  mouth. 
I  was  greatly  concerned  for  a  moment,  having 
the  idea  he  might  contrive  to  bite  it  off,  but 
Tom  and  the  captain  did  not  appear  worried, 
and  I  perceived  directly  his  teeth  were  so  wide 
apart  it  had  settled  between  two  of  them  on 
the  lower  jaw.  If  so  small  a  thing  could  have 
embarrassed  the  entangled  monster,  this  would 
have  done  so,  but  he  seemed  entirely  unaware 
of  it.  But  it  made  his  attempts  to  bite  the 
cask  less  successful  than  ever,  for  the  line  kept 
getting  in  the  way,  and  veered  it  off.  When 
he  convinced  himself  that  this  attack  was  of  no 
use,  he  returned  to  his  flukes  again,  and  be 
labored  the  buoy  until  it  really  seemed  as  if 
he  would  dash  it  to  pieces,  but  the  staunch  oak 
staves  held  good.  Of  course,  if  the  cask  had 
not  been  in  the  yielding  water  the  first  stroke 
would  have  knocked  it  to  flinders. 

Toward  the  last  his  blows  were  obviously 
given  with  loss  of  strength  and  spirit.    Then 


1 68  There  She  Blows 

he  ceased,  and  for  the  first  time  since  our  iron 
had  entered  his  back,  he  lay  without  motion : 

"Pull  all !"  said  the  Old  Man  softly.  "Stand 
up,  Tom!" 

With  a  turn  of  the  blade  of  his  steering  oar 
he  pointed  the  boat's  nose  at  Sacred  Ben's 
broadside,  and  our  oars  caught  the  water.  Mr. 
Stoddard  was  coming  too  on  the  other  side  of 
the  great  body.  We  were  fifty  feet  distant,  and 
Tom  had  his  lance  aloft,  when  the  whale's  huge 
head  sank  as  if  drawn  down,  and  his  body 
reared  itself  on  end  in  a  perpendicular  dive. 
It  was  a  tremendous  distance  to  hurl  a  lance, 
but  the  fourth  mate  did  not  intend  to  miss 
the  opportunity.  He  "pitch-poled"  his  keen 
weapon  with  a  bitter  impetus  that  carried  it 
over  the  intervening  space,  and  lodged  it  in 
Ben's  belly  as  he  disappeared.  The  warp  was 
jerked  from  Morrison's  hand  and  went  out  of 
sight  with  the  whale.  As  we  backed  water, 
Morrison  stooped,  and  took  another  lance  from 
its  rack  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  but  the 
captain  said: 

"I  don't  believe  you'll  need  it!  You  went 
home  that  time.  It  was  a  good  dart,  sir !" 

The  fourth  mate  looked  happy,  and  we 
waited.  Not  for  long!  The  trusty  old  cask 


A  Whaling  Yarn  169 

could  scarcely  have  gone  five  fathoms  deep 
when  up  it  came,  and  right  after  it  Sacred  Ben 
spouting  blood  by  the  bucketful,  and  sick  unto 
death.  Uncle  Zene  took  one  glimpse  at  him, 
and  observed  hastily: 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  get  out  of  this.  He's 
going  in  his  flurry.  Pull  for  all  you're  worth !" 

We  had  hardly  reached  what  I  considered  a 
reasonable  distance  when  the  last  tremendous 
climax  of  the  day  took  place.  I  had  thought 
that  whale's  strength  exhausted!  An  earth 
quake  could  not  have  been  more  vigorous  than 
he  was  for  the  next  two  minutes.  He  lashed 
the  waters  in  mad  fury  with  his  flukes;  he 
churned  them  into  suds  with  his  fins;  he 
actually  bit  them,  gnashing  his  jaws  so  we 
could  hear  them  click  together.  He  flung  his 
colossal  carcase  from  side  to  side  until  he  beat 
the  summer  sea  into  tempestuous  fury.  Then 
all  at  once — and  it  seemed  a  miracle  to  me — he 
rolled  over  dead  as  Julius  Caesar. 

Hurrah!  We  had  done  it!  We  had  killed 
Sacred  Ben,  the  Whale  of  the  Cross,  and 
avenged  old  John!  We  all  cheered.  Stod- 
dard's  boat  crew,  and  Fletcher's,  which  was 
returning — too  late  for  the  fray,  but  not  for  the 
rejoicing — joined  with  us,  and  a  wild  yell  of 


170  There  She  Blows 

victory  rent  the  air  that  reached  over  the  calm 
water  as  far  as  the  bark,  and  we  could  hear 
their  hurrahs  faintly  in  response.  We  pulled 
to  where  the  cyclopean  monster — only  lately 
the  scourge  of  the  seas — was  rolling  inertly 
to  the  heave  of  the  water,  and  the  Old  Man 
reached  out,  and  patted  his  black  side: 

"Tom,"  he  said  deliberately,  "I  put  up  the 
job,  but  you  killed  him.  I  call  you  a  whaleman, 
and  if  you  want  to  sail  with  me  as  mate  next 
voyage  I'll  sign  you  on,  sure's  you're  alive!" 

Old  Tom  did  not  know  which  way  to  look 
at  this  public  tribute  from  a  man  who  was  not 
given  to  this  sort  of  thing,  so  he  made  his 
warp  fast  to  Sacred  Ben.  The  others  tailed 
on,  and  we  started  for  the  Avola,  which  was 
coming  down  to  us  with  to'gallant  sails  set.  It 
was  not  long  before  we  passed  a  chain  about 
those  flukes  that  had  been  so  formidable,  and 
put  up  the  tackles  to  strip  the  blubber  off  him. 
One  hundred  and  thirty-one  barrels  he  stowed 
down,  and  was  the  largest  whale  killed  in  the 
South  Pacific  that  season. 

Two  of  the  foremast  hands,  they  said  they 
were  cousins  of  Portugee  John,  were  detailed  to 
prepare  our  dead  comrades  for  burial.  This 
undertaking  business  has  always  seemed  un- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  171 

pleasant,  but  apparently  these  men  did  not 
mind  it.  They  washed  the  corpses,  and  shaved 
them.  They  attired  the  dead  men  in  the  best 
raiment  found  in  their  donkeys.  Portuguese 
sailors  are  a  provident  lot,  and  invariably  take 
with  them  on  their  voyages  a  suit  especially 
designed  for  such  emergencies.  Poor  chaps, 
it  shows  their  sense  of  the  uncertain  nature  of 
their  occupation.  When  the  bodies  were  as 
neatly  togged  out  as  was  possible  in  the  nature 
of  things,  they  were  sewn  up  in  canvas  the 
Old  Man  donated  from  the  sail  room,  and  some 
old  iron  castings,  kept  in  the  hold  for  this 
melancholy  purpose,  were  attached  to  their  feet. 
Meanwhile  the  work  of  cutting  in  Sacred  Ben 
went  on,  and  it  would  never  have  been  sus 
pected  that  two  members  of  the  little  community 
that  had  lived  in  such  close  companionship  the 
past  year,  lay  outstretched  in  death  a  few  feet 
distant  from  the  busy  laborers.  The  grim  fact 
of  Death  is  accepted  and  forgotten  on  board 
ship  more  readily  than  on  the  land.  Perhaps 
the  absence  of  womanhood  and  family  relations 
have  something  to  do  with  this,  as  well  as  the 
reckless  and  happy-go-lucky  disposition  of  the 
average  sailorman.  At  any  rate,  it  appeared  to 
me  that  the  two  men  alive  not  ten  hours  since 


172  There  She  Blows 

had  passed  away  without  even  a  disturbing 
ripple  to  remind  us  of  their  tragic  ends. 

When  the  glorious,  tropical,  full  moon  arose, 
the  Old  Man  came  to  the  waist  and  ordered 
"all  hands  to  stand  by  for  burial."  He  sta 
tioned  himself  by  the  rail,  and  the  officers 
ranged  themselves  opposite.  The  two  chief 
mourners  brought  Portugee  John  on  a  scuttle- 
door  that  had  been  taken  from  its  place,  and 
rested  it,  feet  foremost,  on  the  rail.  We  of  the 
crew  gathered  by  the  main  hatch,  and  the  cap 
tain  read  the  impressive  words  of  the  burial 
service  at  sea  by  the  mellow  moonlight : 

"We  therefore  commit  his  body  to  the  deep, 
to  be  turned  into  corruption,  looking  for  the 
resurrection  of  the  body  (when  the  sea  shall 
give  up  her  dead),  and  the  life  of  the  world  to 
come,  through  out  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  at 
His  coming  shall  change  our  vile  body,  that  it 
may  be  like  His  glorious  body,  according  to  the 
mighty  working  whereby  He  is  able  to  subdue 
all  things  unto  Himself." 

He  lowered  the  book,  and  made  a  slight  ges 
ture  to  the  pall  bearers.  They  tilted  the  in 
board  end  of  the  plank,  and  John  disappeared 
into  the  calm  bosom  of  the  sea.  There  were  a 
few  bubbles,  and  it  was  ended.  The  ceremony 


A  Whaling  Yarn  173 

was  repeated  for  the  Flores  man,  and  the  cap 
tain  whisked  about  briskly,  and  said  in  his 
usual  work-a-day  tone : 

"Turn  to!" 

As  I  went  back  to  the  try  works  with  Tom 
Morrison,  the  fourth  mate  observed  thought 
fully: 

"After  all,  we  fellows  ain't  much  more  ac 
count  than  a  cockroach.  We  get  scrunched 
like  we  scrunch  them,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it. 
Sometimes  you  think  you  are  some  punkins,  but 
when  it  comes  down  to  facts  the  cockroach  is 
just  about  as  important  as  we  are.  Well,  I 
don't  reckon  he  puts  in  much  time  worrying 
about  when  he's  going  to  be  scrunched,  and  we 
might  as  well  do  likewise.  What  do  you  think 
about  it,  Ned?" 

"The  cockroach  is  a  wise  old  bird,"  said  I, 
and  we  went  to  work  and  stopped  attempting 
to  dive  into  mysteries  that  had  puzzled  wiser 
men. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

COR  several  weeks  after  our  capture  of  the 
Whale  of  the  Cross  we  had  one  of  our  easy 
spells.  No  whales,  and  nothing  else  exciting 
except  the  rats  and  cockroaches,  which  abso 
lutely  swarmed  on  the  old,  oil-soaked  Avola. 
The  rats  were  everywhere ;  they  played  around 
our  feet  at  meal  times,  and  picked  up  crumbs 
thrown  them  like  pet  poodles.  It  was  nothing 
unusual  for  them  to  run  over  a  leg  or  arm 
while  one  was  lying  in  his  bunk,  and  they  even 
came  on  deck  at  night,  and  foraged  for  scraps. 
They  were  great,  hearty,  gray  fellows,  as  large 
as  a  good-sized  kitten,  and  although  they 
looked  very  ferocious  with  their  sharp,  white 
teeth,  and  little,  twinkling  eyes,  we  got  so  we 
did  not  mind  their  companionship,  and  were  on 
rather  friendly  terms  with  them.  Nevertheless, 
they  were  undesirable  shipmates,  for  in  their 
rapaciousness  they  ate  up  a  great  many  useful 
things. 

The  after-gang,  that  is  the  officers,  were  not 
as  easy-going  as  we — perhaps  they  had  more 

174 


"  IT  '.S  A   FLOATER,   I  THINK,"   HE  REPLIED,    "  HUT  IT  'S  A  LONG 
WAY  OFF." 

See  Chapter  XV. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  175 

property  imperilled — and  there  was  open  and 
constant  feud  between  them  and  the  rodents. 
They  devised  all  sorts  of  plans  and  ingenious 
traps  for  their  extermination,  but  apparently 
without  the  slightest  effect  in  reducing  their 
numbers.  Fletcher,  the  negro  third  mate,  de 
veloped  a  singular  faculty  in  connection  with 
the  animals  which  made  the  others  regard  him 
with  envy  and  admiration.  He  was  possessed 
of  abnormal  quickness  of  hand  and  eye,  and  be 
came  so  expert  he  could  reach  down  like  light 
ning,  pick  up  any  incautious  rat  by  the  long  tail, 
and  slat  it  fiercely  to  the  deck  again.  He  killed 
dozens  in  this  way,  until  they  must  have  become 
aware  of  his  peculiar  gift,  for  they  looked  on 
him  with  suspicion,  and  no  longer  ventured 
in  his  immediate  vicinity. 

The  cockroaches  annoyed  me  more  than  the 
rats,  although  in  a  way  they  were  not  so  for 
midable.  They  thrived  on  the  diet  the  ship 
furnished,  and  grew  to  enormous  size.  It  was 
not  unusual  to  see  them  nearly  an  inch  long, 
and  they  infested  every  conceivable  crack, 
cranny,  and  crevice  on  the  Avola.  I  likened 
these  fastnesses  to  robbers'  caves.  Here  the 
marauders  dwelt  in  security  like  the  old  barons 
on  the  Rhine.  When  they  needed  supplies,  or 


176  There  She  Blows 

desired  to  put  the  outlaying  communities  under 
tribute  they  would  make  savage  forays,  some 
times  in  small  parties,  and  at  others  in  full 
force.  On  these  latter  occasions  the  forecastle 
would  be  literally  alive  with  them.  You  could 
not  step  without  crushing  half  a  dozen,  with  a 
horrid,  repulsive  scrunch.  And  a  mashed  dead 
cockroach  is  even  more  objectionable  than  a  live 
one.  Its  body  becomes  a  greasy,  mealy  mass, 
with  a  penetrating,  acrid  odor  that  makes  one 
gasp  and  flee  for  fresh  air.  Several  times  a 
day,  at  irregular  intervals,  but  apparently  fol 
lowing  some  general  command,  they  swarmed 
out  on  us  en  masse.  If  we  happened  to  be  eat 
ing  they  would  fill  our  pots  and  pans,  and  at 
such  times  they  invariably  crawled  over  the 
small,  open-wicked  lamp  and  extinguished  it, 
although  the  odor  of  roasting  cockroach 
showed  they  had  not  accomplished  the  result 
without  cost  to  themselves.  Another  unpleas 
ant  habit  of  these  pests  was  that  they  would, 
whenever  they  caught  one  of  us  asleep,  eat  the 
flesh  under  our  finger  and  toe  nails.  I  suppose 
the  thinness  of  the  skin  there  gave  them  their 
opportunity.  At  any  rate,  for  weeks  at  this 
period,  I  never  dared  turn  in  my  bunk  to  sleep 
without  putting  on  gloves  and  socks,  a  habili- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  177 

ment  that  in  view  of  the  prevailing  tropical 
heat,  was  inexpressibly  absurd. 

I  have  described  these  two  features  of  life  on 
a  whaler  because  of  the  "smoking  ship"  festival 
we  celebrated  at  this  time.  Early  one  morning, 
the  Old  Man  came  to  the  waist  as  the  watch 
was  going  below,  and  sung  out : 

"All  hands  stands  by  to  smoke  ship!  Pre 
pare  yourselves  to  remain  on  deck  three  days." 

We  knew  what  to  expect,  and  at  once 
brought  from  below  such  things  as  we  would 
need  during  the  picnic  on  deck.  Each  sailor 
selected  some  spot  to  be  his  for  the  nonce,  for 
ward  of  the  windlass,  or  on  the  try  works,  or 
on  top  of  the  house,  and  deposited  his  mattress. 
Then  the  real  business  began.  The  main 
hatches  were  removed,  and  a  gang  of  men 
swarmed  down  into  the  lower  hold  and  cleared 
away  a  space  for  the  great  iron  deck  pot  that 
generally  held  Slush's  supply  of  firewood. 
Kindling,  plentifully  sprinkled  with  kerosene 
and  tar  was  put  in  the  bottom,  and  on  it  sulphur 
and  similar  articles  for  the  purpose  of  convert 
ing  the  air  below  decks  into  noxious  gas  that 
would  asphyxiate  the  pests.  The  pyre  was  not 
lighted  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings.  The 
gang  adjourned  to  deck,  where  the  captain  and 


178  There  She  Blows 

mate  had  prepared  a  number  of  strips  of  paper, 
and  tins  of  molasses.  By  the  aid  of  these,  using 
the  blackstrap  as  mucilage,  every  tiny  crack 
that  allowed  air  to  penetrate  below  was  care 
fully  closed. 

"Jump  down,  Ned,"  said  the  skipper,  "and 
light  that  fire.  We'll  haul  you  up  before  it 
lays  you  out." 

I  took  the  matches  he  handed  me  and  put  my 
foot  on  the  point  of  the  tackle  hook,  holding  by 
the  standing  part.  Down  I  went,  and  dropped 
a  blazing  match  into  the  charged  deck  pot.  It 
flickered  and  burst  into  a  flame,  and  as  I  was 
hoisted  again,  a  trail  of  stinking  smoke  en 
veloped  and  nearly  strangled  me  before  I 
reached  the  open  air.  The  hatches  were 
promptly  secured,  and  the  crevice  overlaid  with 
molasses  paper. 

A  quarter  hour  later  Jonas  called  me  to  the 
forecastle  scuttle  and  told  me  to  lay  my  ear 
against  it  as  he  was  doing.  When  I  did  so  I 
could  hear  a  wild  commotion.  The  rats  seemed, 
from  the  noise,  to  be  scurrying  madly  around, 
and  from  the  soft  flip-flip  on  the  inner  surface 
of  the  door,  I  knew  the  cockroaches  were 
swarming  in  incalculable  numbers. 

The  life  on  deck  for  the  ensuing  days  was 


A  Whaling  Yarn  179 

no  hardship  either  to  me  or  the  officers.  Then 
the  scuttles  and  hatches  were  flung  wide  to 
the  air,  but  for  an  interval  no  one  was  per 
mitted  below.  When  the  Old  Man  judged  the 
poisonous  fumes  had  passed  away,  we  made  a 
rush  for  the  interior  of  the  ship  expecting  to 
find  the  deck  everywhere  covered  with  the  dead 
bodies  of  our  enemies.  Such  was  not  the  case. 
An  occasional  one  lay  in  the  open,  but  it  was 
apparent  most  of  the  rats  had  retired  to  the 
secret  places  and  died  there,  gnashing  their 
teeth  at  Fate,  like  the  ferocious  hearted  out 
laws  they  were.  But  the  deadly  vapor  had  done 
its  work.  In  twenty- four  hours  the  rotting  car 
cases  began  to  make  themselves  manifest  by  the 
smell,  and  those  of  us  who  had  again  taken  up 
their  quarters  below  hurriedly  brought  their 
bedding  once  more  on  deck.  It  was  a  week,  or 
longer,  before  life  was  endurable  between 
decks,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  reminiscent 
stench  hung  about  the  forecastle  the  whole  bal 
ance  of  the  voyage.  Perhaps  I  was  mistaken, 
and  got  the  smell  of  the  dead  rats  confused 
with  that  of  the  living  Portuguese. 

And  now  an  event  happened  which  made  a 
great  and  pleasant  change  in  my  life  on  board 
the  Avola.  The  death  of  Portugee  John  had 


180  There  She  Blows 

left  us  short  a  boatsteerer.  In  case  of  emer 
gency,  of  course,  the  Old  Man  could  lower  him 
self,  and  using  the  fourth  mate  to  steer  him, 
leave  Fayal  Joe  for  Stoddard,  as  had  been  done 
when  we  lowered  the  second  time  for  Sacred 
Ben.  The  boatsteerer  is  an  important  man  on 
the  ship  as  well  as  in  the  boat,  being  actually  the 
petty  officer  of  the  watch,  and  the  actual  work 
ing  leader  in  all  ship  duties.  I  suppose  he  cor 
responds  to  the  warrant  officer  on  a  man-of- 
war.  It  is  the  custom  in  similar  cases  to  choose 
a  fitting  substitute  from  among  the  crew,  and 
promote  him.  The  advancement  takes  the 
chosen  one  out  of  the  forecastle,  for  boat- 
steerers  berth  and  eat  in  what  is  called  the 
steerage — a  compartment  aft  of  the  cabin — 
with  the  cook  and  steward.  In  some  respects 
this  companionship  is  not  undesirable  for  these 
two  autocrats  virtually  control  the  food  sup 
ply,  and  have  it  in  their  power  to  share  what 
ever  dainties  are  served  at  the  officers'  table. 

One  memorable  afternoon,  in  the  dog  watch, 
the  word  was  passed  forward  that  Long  Island 
Ned  was  wanted  on  the  quarter  deck.  I  hur 
ried  aft  without  the  least  idea  of  what  was 
about  to  happen,  and  found  Captain  Bourne 
and  Mr.  Stoddard  awaiting  me: 


A  Whaling  Yarn  181 

"Ned,"  the  Old  Man  began,  "Mr.  Stoddard 
thinks  you  could  steer  his  boat.  What's  your 
idea  about  it?" 

He  grinned,  and  both  looked  pleasant 
enough,  but  I  was  taken  flat  aback  by  the  un 
expectedness  of  it.  Of  course  I  knew  it  was  a 
compliment,  and  a  very  unusual  occurrence  for 
a  green  hand  to  be  thus  advanced ;  and  I  fully 
understood  how  much  more  comfortable  and 
happy  it  would  make  me.  In  fact,  the  only 
quarrel  I  had  with  my  life  on  board  was  the 
necessarily  intimate  association  with  the  riff 
raff  of  the  forecastle.  I  turned  red  as  a  boiled 
lobster,  and  stammered  away  in  my  embarrass 
ment  until  I  was  afraid  they  would  think  I  was 
trying  to  decline  the  berth,  but  the  Old  Man 
cut  me  short  in  a  moment  by  saying  in  his  usual 
decisive  way: 

"Get  your  dunnage  and  strike  aft  to  the 
steerage.  Take  John's  bunk." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  I  meekly  answered,  but  I 
went  forward  with  a  light  heart. 

I  stood  masthead  lookout  at  the  main  now 
instead  of  forward,  and  either  Mr.  Stoddard 
or  Mr.  Morrison  shared  the  duty.  This  was 
very  pleasant,  for  they  were  intelligent  com 
panions,  very  different  from  the  ignorant  fore- 


1 82  There  She  Blows 

mast  hands  with  whom  I  had  been  obliged  to 
herd.  While  these  officers  had  been  friendly 
enough  to  me  while  I  was  in  the  forecastle,  the 
difference  in  our  status  had  made  it  impossible 
for  us  to  become  intimate. 

The  next  day  after  my  promotion  I  was  aloft 
with  Stoddard  in  the  morning  watch.  He  had 
a  pair  of  excellent  glasses  with  which  he  could 
sweep  the  face  of  the  water  further  than  I  could 
see  with  my  unaided  vision,  though  that  hap 
pened  to  be  keen.  On  this  occasion  I  saw  he 
was  regarding  something  with  interest  that 
was  invisible  to  me.  I  grew  curious  as  he  con 
tinued  to  gaze,  and  asked  him  what  he  was 
looking  at. 

"It's  a  floater,  I  think,"  he  replied,  "but  it's  a 
long  way  off,  and  I  can't  quite  make  it  out. 
Whatever  it  is,  it's  black  and  floating  high  in 
the  water,  and  there  are  a  lot  of  birds  about  it. 
You  take  a  look  through  my  glasses." 

He  handed  them  to  me.  When  I  had  the 
focus  right,  I  could  see  the  object  clearly.  As 
he  said  it  floated  high  above  the  surface,  but  I 
discerned  an  occasional  disturbance  in  the 
water  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the  black  mass 
that  had  first  attracted  attention.  Myriads  of 
gulls  hovered  around  and  over  the  object  as  if 


A  Whaling  Yarn  183 

feeding.  The  second  mate  thought  the  ripple 
I  noted  was  the  disturbance  made  by  the  dead 
whale's  flukes.  He  hailed  the  deck  and  told  the 
Old  Man,  who  was  prowling  the  length  of  the 
weather  quarter  as  usual,  that  he  had  raised  a 
dead  whale  about  four  miles  to  leeward. 

The  news  interested  Uncle  Zene  out  of  all 
proportion  to  its  importance,  it  seemed  to  us. 

"Hard  up  your  helm !"  he  shouted  to  the  man 
at  the  wheel.  Then  as  the  Avola  began  to  pay 
off,  he  called  up  to  Stoddard:  "Give  us  the 
course,  sir!  Point  the  flying  jib  boom  straight 
on  that  dead  whale,  sir !" 

Mr.  Stoddard  smiled  and  sung  out,  "Steady 
as  she  goes!"  when  we  were  headed  right. 
Then  he  added  to  me : 

"I  wonder  whether  Uncle  Zene  is  calculating 
on  cutting  in  that  fellow.  By  the  way  it  floats, 
it's  been  dead  long  enough  to  be  blasted,  and 
I'll  bet  it  stinks  worse  than  a  bushel  of  pole 
cats." 

We  were  in  a  fair  way  to  find  out.  For  a 
wonder  there  was  a  humming  breeze,  which 
shortly  brought  us  to  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  floater.  The  second  mate  was  right.  As 
we  came  closer  a  vile  stench,  that  became  more 
appalling  as  we  approached,  assailed  our  nos- 


1 84  There  She  Blows 

trils.  It  did  not  daunt  Uncle  Zene.  He  or 
dered  away  the  starboard  boat.  When  it  was  in 
the  water,  he  took  a  short-handled  whaling 
spade  from  its  place  in  the  companion-way 
locker,  and  climbed  into  the  stern  sheets.  Stod- 
dard  had  ceased  smiling  by  this  time,  and  was 
looking  curious. 

"I  wonder  what  the  Old  Harry  he's  after !" 
he  muttered  to  me.  "What's  he  going  to  do 
with  that  spade?" 

I  could  not  answer  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
but  I  watched  with  increasing  wonder  as  I  re 
flected  that  acute-witted  old  Uncle  Zene  was 
the  most  unlikely  man  in  the  whaling  fleet  to 
put  himself  to  this  discomfort  without  some 
well-defined  object  at  the  end.  When  the  boat 
neared  the  dead  whale  he  pulled  half  a  dozen 
bandanna  handkerchiefs  from  the  front  of  his 
shirt,  and  tieing  one  around  his  own  nostrils, 
so  as  to  not  interfere  with  his  vision,  he  tossed 
the  others  to  his  crew.  We  could  see  they  fol 
lowed  his  example,  and  then  backed  him  right 
up  against  the  floater's  distended  stomach. 
The  Old  Man  held  his  nose  with  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  in  addition  to  the  defense  afforded  by 
the  wipe,  while  he  dug  into  the  mass  of  putrid 
flesh  with  the  spade  held  in  the  other.  In  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  185 

moment  we  heard  him  give  a  shout  of  exulta 
tion. 

He  dropped  his  spade,  reached  over  and 
lifted  out  a  large  chunk  of  something  from 
among  the  intestines  of  the  whale,  and 
sank  back  with  it  in  his  lap.  Apparently 
he  was  almost  overcome  by  the  noxious 
gases,  but  he  signed  the  men  to  pull  for 
the  ship.  In  a  moment  he  straightened  up, 
said  something  to  Tom  Morrison  who  was 
pulling  the  harpooneer  oar,  and  pointed  tri 
umphantly  to  the  grayish  black  mass  he  had 
taken  from  the  whale's  insides.  At  this  point, 
the  second  mate,  who  had  his  eyes  glued  on  the 
scene,  clapped  his  thigh  with  his  great  hand, 
reckless  of  his  position  at  the  slings  of  the 
main-royal  yard  a  hundred  feet  above  deck, 
and  said  to  me  indignantly: 

"I  see  what  it  is,  you  cussed  fool!  The  Old 
Man  has  got  a  lump  of  ambergris  out  of  that 
dead  sperm  whale,  and  it's  worth  twenty  dol 
lars  an  ounce  if  it's  worth  a  cent!" 

The  Old  Man  came  over  the  side  chipper 
as  a  boy,  and  a  moment  after  hailed  us  cheer- 
ily: 

"Lay  down  here,  if  you  want  to  see  the  sight 
of  your  lives!" 


1 86  There  She  Blows 

We  were  on  deck  in  a  jiffy,  conscious  of  a 
rare  and  delightful  perfume  fighting  the 
noisome  stench  that  continued  to  eat  into  the 
wind  from  the  whale.  Tom  had  carefully 
passed  the  lump  of  ambergris  to  the  captain, 
and  it  lay  before  us  on  the  quarter  deck  as  large 
as  a  bushel  basket. 

"There,"  said  the  Old  Man.  "Look  at  it! 
A  hundred  pounds,  if  it's  an  ounce.  Ten  thou 
sand  dollars  at  the  lowest  reckoning!" 


THE  WOMAN,   YOUNC   AM)   HANDSOME,   SEEMED   UNCONSCIOUS  OF 
HER   BURDEN. 

See  Chapter  XVI. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

HPHESE  New  Ireland  natives  made  me  rate 
•*•  my  swimming  abilities  very  low.  We 
were  constantly  cruising  along  the  coast  of 
one  of  this  group  of  islands  at  that  period, 
and  generally  within  a  distance  of  three  or 
four  miles  from  the  beach.  It  was  no  uncom 
mon  thing  for  some  of  the  natives,  women  as 
well  as  men,  to  swim  out  to  where  we  lay  almost 
motionless  in  the  light  winds  that  prevailed. 
They  had  no  purpose  in  the  visit,  as  they  could 
not  carry  any  thing  to  barter,  but  seemed  on 
a  pleasure  trip,  or  in  mere  curiosity  to  view 
us  at  closer  range. 

Once  a  woman  appeared  who  varied  the 
monotony  of  the  performance  by  bringing  her 
baby,  which  could  not  have  been,  at  the  out 
side,  six  months  old.  The  tiny,  brown,  laugh 
ing  imp  sat  perched  astride  her  parent's  neck, 
and  in  moments  of  uncertainty  clung  to  her 
hair.  The  woman,  who  was  young  and  hand 
some,  seemed  unconscious  of  her  burden,  and 

187 


1 88  There  She  Blows 

apparently  her  action  was  as  natural  as  it 
would  be  for  a  civilized  nurse  to  carry  the 
infant  on  her  shoulder.  When  she  swam  along 
side  I  was  in  the  waist  preparing  to  light  a 
new  clay  pipe.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  as 
I  leaned  over  the  rail.  I  saw  by  the  expres 
sion  of  her  face  how  she  coveted  it,  and  held 
it  aloft  in  one  hand,  and  pointed  to  the  baby 
with  the  other.  She  understood  like  a  flash 
that  I  meant  would  she  exchange  the  one  for 
the  other.  Alas  for  the  sacredness  of  Mother 
Love !  She  snatched  the  infant  from  her  neck, 
and  eagerly  held  it  forth,  the  while  she  sup 
ported  herself  half  out  of  water  in  some  mar 
vellous  manner  by  the  dextrous  use  of  her 
legs  and  feet.  I  laughed,  and  tossed  her  the 
pipe,  signing  she  could  keep  both.  She  caught 
the  precious  article  expertly  as  a  ball  tosser, 
her  features  radiantly  expressing  passionate 
exultation.  She  was  acquainted  with  its  use, 
for  her  first  action  was  to  blow  through  it  to 
see  if  it  \vere  clear.  When  this  important 
point  was  settled,  she  passed  the  stem  through 
a  hole  in  the  lobe  of  her  ear  corresponding  to 
those  Christian  ladies  use  for  earrings,  but 
much  larger.  When  satisfied  of  its  absolute 


A  Whaling  Yarn  189 

security,  she  started  for  the  shore  with  a  thrill 
ing  whoop  of  joy. 

We  had  now  been  in  these  southern  waters 
more  than  a  year  and  a  half,  and  the  bottom 
of  the  old  Avola  had  become  so  foul  with  bar 
nacles  and  sea  weed  growth  that  she  was 
almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  currents 
so  far  as  her  sailing  was  concerned.  The  mat 
ter  had  been  discussed  among  the  officers  as 
being  of  importance,  but  the  Old  Man,  who 
kept  his  own  counsel  and  never  spoke  till  he 
was  ready  to  act,  had  not  announced  his  inten 
tions. 

I  was  not  surprised,  however,  when  he  or 
dered  the  topgallant  sails  set  at  the  fore  and 
the  main,  and  the  course  changed  to  the  north 
ward.  A  little  later  Tom  told  me  we  were 
bound  to  a  small  harbor  on  the  Duke  of  York 
island,  one  of  the  group,  to  get  the  bottom 
scraped  by  the  natives.  Incidentally  we  would 
replenish  our  water  supply,  and  lay  in  a  stock 
of  fresh  provisions. 

This  harbor  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  places  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was 
completely  land-locked,  being  approached  by 
a  winding  passage,  with  the  soundings  of 


There  She  Blows 

which  the  skipper  appeared  to  be  familiar,  for 
he  conned  the  bark  into  her  anchorage  without 
hesitation.  There  was  good  holding  ground, 
and  the  cove  was  not  half  a  mile  from  shore 
to  shore.  Abrupt  cliffs  a  hundred  feet  high, 
crowned  by  trees  that  went  another  hundred 
toward  the  heavens,  surrounded  it.  It  called 
to  mind  a  pool  in  a  forest,  for,  except  at  mid 
day,  the  calm  water  was  swathed  in  shadow. 

As  the  bark  came  around  the  last  corner 
into  the  cove  we  heard  a  tumult  of  cries  and 
calls  from  the  summit  of  the  cliffs,  and  before 
our  anchor  was  down  fifteen  or  twenty  natives 
descended  by  a  trail  to  starboard  of  our  berth 
where  a  ravine  pierced  the  mountain.  They 
dragged  canoes  from  the  underbrush  at  the 
base  of  the  wall,  and  in  a  moment  were  along 
side. 

Captain  Bourne  met  the  first,  who  appeared 
to  be  in  authority,  at  the  rail,  and  welcomed 
him  cordially.  As  near  as  I  could  make  the 
name  out,  he  called  him  Luckawarre.  It 
turned  out  Luckawarre  was  a  chief  of  emi 
nence,  and  mighty  potentate,  and  he  certainly 
was  a  magnificent  savage.  He  stood  six  feet, 
six  inches  in  height,  and  was  a  better  built 
man  than  John  L.  Sullivan  in  the  palmiest  days 


A  Whaling  Yarn  191 

of  that  eminent  pugilist.  His  features  were 
Grecian  in  type,  and  cleanly  modelled  as  those 
of  a  college  professor.  His  hair  was  long  and 
wavy,  and  hung  in  natural  ringlets  on  his 
shoulders.  Altogether  this  Kanaka  chieftain 
— I  presume  he  was  Kanaka — was  a  perfect 
specimen  of  natural  Manhood. 

Luckawarre  had  a  few  words  of  English, 
and  quickly  made  himself  at  home  with  all  of 
us,  although  there  was  a  primitive  dignity 
about  him  that  forbade  our  taking  liberties. 
One  of  his  first  actions  was  to  bring  from  his 
canoe  a  contrivance  which  seemed  to  be  an 
empty  cocoanut  shell  with  a  couple  of  short 
sticks  protruding  from  holes  in  it.  It  rudely 
resembled  a  bird.  He  carried  this  contraption 
forward  while  the  other  natives  looked  on 
the  ceremony  with  respectful  awe,  and  tied  it 
on  the  end  of  the  bowsprit.  When  he  returned 
to  the  captain  he  pointed  to  the  symbol,  and 
then  to  his  companions,  and  said  emphatically : 
"Taboo!"  The  Old  Man  nodded  as  though 
well  pleased,  and  escorted  Luckawarre  to  his 
after  cabin.  I  may  add  that  the  whole  ten  days 
we  lay  here,  not  so  much  as  a  rope  of  yarn  was 
pilfered  from  the  ship.  Yet  I  firmly  believe 
those  natives  would  have  stolen  a  red  hot  stove 


192  There  She  Blows 

if  their  natural  instincts  had  not  been  re 
strained. 

Luckawarre  was  something  of  a  business 
man  in  contradistinction  to  other  natives  in  the 
South  Seas,  and  after  his  understanding  with 
the  Old  Man,  he  went  right  to  work.  His 
canoes  were  sent  to  the  shore:  the  natives 
ascended  the  cliff,  and  after  a  while  returned 
with  a  lot  of  old  cocoanuts.  That  is,  they  were 
dead  ripe,  and  the  husk  on  them  was  dried  and 
toughened.  It  appeared  these  entered  into  the 
skipper's  plans,  for  as  soon  as  they  arrived  the 
men  were  set  at  husking  them  with  hatchet  and 
marline  spike.  When  a  number  of  sections  of 
husk  were  ready,  Luckawarre  selected  five  of 
his  most  robust  subjects,  and  the  scheme  for 
cleaning  the  Avola's  foul  bottom  became  ap 
parent. 

Each  of  the  natives  took  a  section  of  the 
tough  husk,  sprang  overboard,  and  disappeared 
under  the  ship.  Luckawarre  himself  dived 
from  the  dolphin  striker,  and  swam  leisurely 
along  the  keel.  In  a  few  moments,  I  am  afraid 
to  say  how  many  for  fear  of  disbelief,  he  ap 
peared  at  the  stern,  looking  as  calm  and  un- 
winded  as  when  he  entered  the  water.  He 
swam  to  the  w^aist,  seized  a  rope,  and  came 


A  Whaling  Yarn  193 

up  the  side  like  a  monkey,  in  spite  of  his  bulk 
and  weight.  He  had  inspected  the  whole  bot 
tom  in  that  trip,  and  made  a  definite  report  of 
its  condition  to  the  captain.  Thereafter  he 
confined  his  efforts  to  superintending  the  job. 
His  methods  were  all  right.  He  made  the 
workers  clean  up  as  they  advanced  along  the 
keel,  and  if  on  inspection,  he  found  the  work 
unsatisfactory,  he  stormed  around  like  an  Irish 
boss  to  his  section  hands.  It  took  several  days 
before  the  work  was  concluded,  and  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  swim  under  the  bark  myself  to  see 
what  they  had  accomplished.  I  found  they  had 
actually  scoured  the  copper  bright,  and  it  was 
probable  she  never  had  been  so  clean  since  she 
left  the  ways.  I  took  an  opportunity  to  tell 
this  to  the  captain,  and  he  smiled  quietly,  and 
said: 

"Yes,  Ned.  I  knew  it  would  be  all  O.  K. 
This  man  Luckawarre  did  the  same  thing  for 
me  when  I  was  here  five  years  ago  in  the 
Naponsett.  That  nigger's  a  Man !" 

We  had  to  go  a  long  way  out  through  the 
passage  to  get  our  fresh  water,  and  when  the 
stream  was  reached,  to  ascend  it  some  distance 
to  a  deep  pool.  One  day  when  the  ashore  gang 
were  up  there  filling  the  casks,  one  of  the  For- 


194  There  She  Blows 

tuguese  sailors,  named  Silva,  and  I  were  act 
ing  as  boat  keepers.  We  had  the  four  boats 
tied  together,  and  anchored,  he  in  one,  and  I 
in  another.  I  had  been  sitting  thoughtfully 
when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  to  things  about 
me  by  a  heavy  splash.  When  I  looked  around 
Silva  had  disappeared.  We  were  in  ten  or 
twelve  fathoms  of  water,  and  I  remembered 
that  this  man  could  not  swim  a  stroke.  J  was 
lightly  clad  in  undershirt  and  drawers,  and  the 
water  was  clear  as  crystal  in  the  intense  sun 
shine.  I  caught  sight  of  him  in  an  instant, 
and  as  he  was  some  distance  away  with  an 
other  boat  intervening,  I  leaped  overboard  and 
swam  to  him  instead  of  trying  to  rescue  him 
with  a  boat  hook.  It  turned  out  one  of  the  most 
foolish  things  I  ever  did  in  my  life.  I  took  him 
by  the  scuff  of  the  neck  as  he  bobbed  above 
the  water,  saying: 

"Lay  over  on  your  back,  Silva.  I'll  get  you 
out  all  riglit." 

The  fellow  was  mad  with  terror,  and  instead 
of  following  my  directions,  he  twisted  about, 
and  had  both  arms  around  my  neck  before  I 
realized  what  he  was  at.  He  had  me  so  I 
could  not  strike  him,  or  get  a  hold  that  would 


rA  Whaling  Yarn  195 

do  the  slightest  good,  and  it  came  over  me  like 
a  flash  that  this  fool  would  probably  succeed 
in  drowning  both  of  us.  There  we  were,  two 
cable's  lengths  from  shore,  and  not  a  soul  in 
sight.  As  I  thought,  and  it  is  marvellous  how 
much  one  can  think  at  such  moments,  Silva 
hugged  tighter  than  ever,  and  he  was  strong 
as  a  bear.  I  had  struggled  fiercely  as  he  at 
the  outset,  and  then  I  had  an  idea.  I  lay 
quiescent  in  his  grasp,  and  filled  my  lungs  with 
a  huge  inhalation  as  we  sunk  in  the  clear  water. 
Down  we  went!  thirty  feet — forty — fifty! 
Still  the  crazy  Portuguese  hung  on  to  me  like 
grim  death.  Now  the  water  was  growing 
darker  overhead,  and  my  ears  began  to  ache. 
But  owing  to  that  full  breath  of  air  with  which 
I  had  packed  my  lungs  at  the  last  moment, 
I  was  not  so  greatly  distressed.  Still  we  sunk, 
and  now  Silva's  grip,  which  had  grown  tighter 
the  first  part  of  our  downward  journey,  began 
to  relax.  Pent  up  as  it  was,  my  heart  bounded 
exultantly,  and  in  another  instant  I  cast  his 
arms  from  about  me  with  an  effort  that  took 
most  of  my  remaining  strength.  Hurrah,  I 
had  outlasted  him,  and  was  free!  I  side 
stepped — at  least  that  term  describes  the  nature 


196  There  She  Blows 

of  the  motion  I  made — to  get  out  of  his  imme 
diate  vicinity,  and  shot  to  the  surface  like  a 
cork. 

The  first  thing  I  did  when  I  reached  the  top 
of  the  water  again  was  to  climb  into  the  nearest 
whale  boat.  Ten  seconds  later  Silva  reap 
peared.  I  had  the  boat  hook  by  this  time,  and 
twisted  the  prong  into  the  neckband  of  his  shirt 
without  caring  much  whether  I  gashed  the 
flesh  or  not.  He  was  half  dead  with  exhaus 
tion  and  terror,  and  had  swallowed  a  lot  of 
water  into  the  bargain.  If  he  had  gone  down 
the  third  time  it  would  have  been  the  end. 
When  I  had  him  fairly  on  the  boat  hook,  I 
held  him  up  a  bit  so  he  could  regain  his  breath, 
and  reasoned  with  him.  I  am  forced  to  con 
fess  my  didactic  discourse  did  not  seem  to  im 
press  him  much,  and  I  finally  hauled  him  in 
over  the  stern  so  he  would  not  upset  the  boat. 
He  lay  down  in  the  bottom,  and  shivered,  and 
wept,  and  called  on  all  the  saints  in  the  cal 
endar,  and  possibly  he  would  have  been  doing 
it  yet  if  I  had  not  shook  him  up  roughly,  and 
told  him  I'd  give  him  a  hammering  that  would 
make  him  wish  he  was  drowned  again  if  he 
didn't  quit  his  nonsense. 

A  month  after,  when  he  knew  I  was  short 


A  Whaling  Yarn  197 

he  brought  me  a  pound  of  prime  ship's  tobacco 
and  would  not  take  any  pay.  So  you  see  there 
is  gratitude  even  in  a  Portuguese  shellback. 

Before  we  went  to  sea,  the  Old  Man  paid  a 
visit  to  Luckawarre  at  the  native  village.  It 
was  about  two  miles  distant  from  the  cove.  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  go  along  at  the  invitation 
of  the  chieftain  with  whom  I  had  become  very 
good  friends.  We  followed  a  narrow  but  well 
travelled  trail  through  the  forest,  and  came  to 
a  valley  scooped  out  of  the  upland,  where  in  a 
natural  wooded  park  was  the  village  of  a  score 
or  two  huts.  The  central  dwelling  was  Luck- 
awarre's  residence.  It  was  more  commodious 
than  the  others,  and  to  our  wonder,  roofed 
with  corrugated  iron.  The  chief  was  elated 
over  our  surprise  and  admiration,  and  managed 
to  make  us  comprehend  he  had  secured  the 
roofing  from  a  Dutch  trader  who  had  wan 
dered  into  the  cove,  and  been  attacked  by  some 
unruly  subjects  during  his  absence.  Fortu 
nately  he  had  returned  in  time  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  fight.  In  exchange  for  this  and  other  ser 
vices  the  grateful  German  had  presented  him 
with  the  iron,  which  he  happened  to  have  on 
board. 

The  huts  were  made  of  flimsy  material,  the 


198  There  She  Blows 

walls  being  only  of  wattled  or  woven  rattan 
attached  to  the  upright  posts  which  supported 
the  roofs.  The  other  dwellings  were  thatched 
skilfully  and  efficiently  with  grass,  and  as  they 
had  only  to  protect  themselves  against  a 
straight  downpour,  they  were  safe  enough 
from  the  rain,  which  seemed  the  element  they 
feared.  The  air  circulated  as  freely  through 
the  houses  as  it  did  outside. 

That  day  I  had  my  first  feed  of  pig  and 
breadfruit  baked  together  in  a  Kanaka  oven, 
and  it  was  unexpectedly  good.  The  prepara 
tion  of  the  dish  is  as  follows:  The  native 
simply  digs  a  pit,  preserving  the  top  sod  intact. 
Then  a  number  of  large  cobblestones  are 
heated  and  dropped  red  hot  in  the  hole.  A 
quantity  of  well-wetted  leaves  are  thrown  on 
top  the  stones.  The  pig  is  stuffed  with  bread 
fruit  after  his  entrails  are  removed,  enveloped 
in  moistened  leaves,  and  put  on  top.  Then  the 
turf  is  carefully  fitted  on,  and  it  is  left  until 
ready  to  eat.  When  taken  from  the  pit,  the 
steaming  flesh  is  deliciously  cooked,  and  the 
skin  and  bristles  come  off  at  a  touch.  The 
breadfruit  is  an  addition  to  the  dish,  although 
it  is  not  really  much  like  bread.  It  resembles 
more  a  boiled  suet  pudding. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  199- 

We  ate  on  small  wooden  trenchers  which 
the  women  placed  at  intervals  on  the  tiny  lawn 
in  front  of  Luckawarre's  door.  Bananas  and 
oranges  were  laid  beside  the  trenchers  much  in 
the  same  way  a  piece  of  bread  is  put  on  the 
napkin  at  a  civilised  dinner  table.  Beside  the 
pig  and  breadfruit,  which  appeared  to  be  the 
piece  de  resistance,  we  had  some  other  viands 
which  were  unfamiliar  to  me.  One  was  called 
poee-poee,  and  is,  I  have  heard,  their  real  sub 
stitute  for  bread.  It  is  prepared  with  the 
breadfruit  as  a  base,  but  is  fermented  before 
considered  fit  to  use.  In  this  condition  it  will 
keep,  even  in  the  tropical  climate,  a  consider 
able  length  of  time.  We  had  one  course  of 
raw  fish,  so  fresh  they  were  nearly  alive.  They 
were  consumed — by  those  who  indulged — with 
a  sauce  of  sea  water.  A  cup  of  cocoa  shell, 
full  of  salt  water,  was  placed  on  each  trencher, 
and  the  natives  alternately  dipped  and  ate. 

Altogether  it  was  a  bit  of  out-of-the-way 
experience,  and  I  returned  to  the  Avola  think 
ing  myself  fortunate  to  have  had  it. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

WHEN  we  bade  goodbye  to  Luckawarre 
and  left  the  Duke  of  York  Island,  our 
course  lay  to  the  northward.  It  was  Captain 
Bourne's  intention  to  cruise  in  leisurely  fash 
ion,  for  one  is  apt  to  raise  whales  anywhere 
in  these  seas,  between  the  north  shore  of  New 
Guinea  and  the  southern  skirts  of  the  Solomon 
group.  At  that  time  the  great  island  of  New 
Guinea  was  almost  unexplored,  and  its  in 
habitants  had  a  reputation  for  inveterate 
savagery  that  prevented  any  but  the  foolhardy 
from  closely  approaching  its  shores.  In  addi 
tion  the  natives  were  reputed  to  be  cannibals. 
I  cannot  refrain  from  giving  the  hardy 
American  whaleman  most  of  the  credit  for 
opening  these  lesser  known  islands  of  the 
South  Pacific  and  introducing  their  inhabitants 
to  the  doubtful  benefits  of  a  higher  civilization. 
As  long  ago  as  the  "forties,"  when  whaling 
was  one  of  the  important  industries  of  the 
world,  and  the  American  fleet  of  hundreds  of 

200 


A  Whaling  Yarn  201 

vessels  from  Nantucket,  New  Bedford,  Prov- 
incetown  and  Sag  Harbor  covered  the  seas 
of  every  portion  of  the  globe,  these  hardy  and 
intrepid  men  followed  the  sperm  whale  into  its 
favorite  fastnesses  among  the  South  Sea 
islands.  If  the  masters  needed  fruit  and 
vegetables  or  fresh  water,  they  did  not  hesitate 
with  nervous  tremors  over  dangerous  possi 
bilities  ;  they  anchored  in  the  nearest  convenient 
harbor,  and  wheedled,  or  I  am  sorry  to  record, 
bullied  the  savages  into  giving  them  the  needed 
supplies.  In  this  way  mainly  the  islanders  be 
came  acquainted  with  the  great  Winged  Canoe 
and  the  White  Man.  The  contact  resulted  in 
the  deterioration  of  the  weaker  brown  race. 
The  rough  sailors  introduced  contagious  dis 
eases  among  their  darker-skinned  brothers 
that  mournfully  weakened  their  less  resistant 
stamina,  and  brought  moral  standards  that 
corrupted  their  innocent  minds.  But  the  mis 
sionary  followed,  and  when  he  came  he  found 
the  worst  evils  he  was  called  to  combat  were 
those  inoculated  by  the  Caucasians  who  had 
preceded  him. 

We  only  sighted  the  New  Guinea  coast  sev 
eral  times,  but  one  day  it  chanced  we  were 


2O2  There  She  Blows 

becalmed  in  plain  sight  of  the  shore.  Mr. 
Fletcher  was  at  the  masthead,  and  after  a  time 
he  hailed: 

"Below  there!     Captain  Bourne?" 

The  next  moment  Uncle  Zene  stood  on  the 
main  hatch,  craning  his  neck  to  gaze  aloft : 

"Aye,  aye,  sir.    What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"There  is  a  nigger  out  here  between  us  and 
the  shore.  Seems  to  be  swimming  for  the  ship. 
But  he's  holding  one  hand  in  the  air,  and 
there's  a  bunch  of  something  in  it  that  glitters 
yellow  like  gold." 

"How  far  off  is  he?" 

"Nearly  a  mile,"  returned  the  third  mate. 

"We'll  wait  for  him,"  concluded  the  Old 
Man,  with  a  smile. 

As  we  were  drifting  without  steerage  way, 
the  captain's  decision  was  a  wise  one.  When 
the  swimmer  approached  near  enough  for  Mr. 
Fletcher  to  get  a  more  accurate  view  of  the 
object  of  his  curiosity,  he  called  down  with 
some  disappointment  in  his  voice: 

"I  believe  that's  a  bird  he's  got  in  his  hand ! 
I  can  see  two  long  feathers  running  back  from 
its  yellow  body." 

"Aye,  aye,"  returned  the  Old  Man,  calmly. 
"No  doubt  he's  swum  off  with  the  dried  skin 


A  Whaling  Yarn  203 

of  a  bird  of  paradise.  I'll  give  him  a  plug  of 
tobacco  for  it." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  darky  came  along 
side.  He  was  a  different  type  from  any  I  had 
previously  seen.  He  appeared  to  have  some 
infusion  of  negro  blood,  for  his  skin  was  nearly 
black,  and  the  lineaments  of  his  face  coarse 
and  fleshy.  His  hair  was  the  most  noticeable 
thing  about  him.  It  was  wonderfully  lux 
uriant,  and  kinked  into  tight  little  coils  that 
covered  his  head  to  such  a  thickness  I  doubt 
if  you  could  have  fitted  an  empty  bushel  basket 
over  it. 

This  queer  specimen  had  swum  the  whole 
distance  from  the  shore  with  one  hand.  In 
the  other  fist  he  held  aloft  what  the  captain 
assured  us  was  the  dried  skin  and  feathers 
of  a  bird  of  paradise — unknown  save  in  New 
Guinea.  It  certainly  was  beautiful. 

The  Old  Man  found  the  native  was  some 
thing  of  a  trader  himself,  and  had  a  notion  of 
the  value  of  his  merchandise.  He  finally  gave 
up  two  plugs  of  tobacco  with  a  sigh  for  what 
was  undoubtedly  worth  fifty  or  sixty  dollars, 
and  I  carefully  hoisted  it  on  deck  with  the 
scoop  net. 

We  examined  the  captain's  purchase  with 


2O4  There  She  Blows 

great  interest,  for  none  of  us  had  ever  seen 
anything  like  it  before.  The  body  of  the  bird 
when  alive  could  not  have  been  larger  than 
that  of  a  robin  or  jay.  The  head  and  neck 
were  covered  with  short,  thickset  feathers,  re 
sembling  velvet  pile,  with  the  bright  golden 
color  above,  and  a  brilliant  emerald  green  be 
neath.  From  under  the  shoulders  on  each  side 
a  dense  tuft  of  golden  orange  plumes  sprung. 
These  were  two  feet  in  length,  and  the  captain 
told  me  he  had  heard  they  can  be  erected  at 
will  by  the  live  bird,  so  as  to  enclose  the  greater 
part  of  the  body.  The  two  central  tail  feathers 
were  nearly  three  feet  long.  Mr.  Stoddard 
voiced  the  opinion  of  the  rest  of  us  when  he 
remarked : 

"That  fellow  has  got  the  peacock  beaten  to 
death." 

We  saw  more  of  the  Solomon  islanders  than 
we  did  of  the  New  Guinea  natives.  They  were 
not  at  all  backward  at  making  our  acquaint 
ance  whenever  they  had  the  opportunity.  One 
time,  when  the  Avola  was  drifting  between 
two  islands  of  the  group,  a  whole  flotilla  sur 
rounded  us.  The  Captain  was  cautious  in  his 
dealings  with  these  fellows,  and  it  was  evident 
he  thoroughly  distrusted  them.  All  the  mus- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  205 

kets  were  charged,  and  men  on  whose  courage 
he  could  depend  stationed  at  every  place  where 
they  might  slip  aboard. 

These  islanders  had  rudely  built  boats  as 
well  as  canoes,  and  some  of  them  were 
equipped,  like  ancient  galleys,  with  two  banks 
of  oars  on  their  double  decks.  The  largest  had 
a  sort  of  dais  amidships  on  which  sat  a  very 
corpulent  man  who  was  evidently  supreme 
chieftain.  I  perceived  when  they  came  closer 
that  he  suffered  from  some  disease  which  had 
swollen  each  of  his  legs  to  the  size  of  his  body. 
A  large  percentage  of  the  visitors  were  afflicted 
in  the  same  way.  The  Old  Man  said  the 
disease  was  a  form  of  elephantiasis,  and  was 
common  in  this  particular  group.  He  added 
that  the  Solomon  islanders  were  murderous 
brutes,  and  inveterate  eaters  of  human  flesh. 
He  had  known  cases  where  the  wrecked  crews 
of  ships  had  been  captured  by  these  cannibals, 
and  eaten. 

In  spite  of  the  shadiness  of  their  character, 
it  turned  out  to  be  lucky  for  us  we  met  them. 
Their  object  turned  out  to  be  to  sell  fifteen  or 
twenty  hogs  they  had  brought  off  in  their  boats 
with  their  feet  firmly  tied.  They  were  of  good 
size,  mostly  weighing  over  two  hundred 


2o6  There  She  Blows 

pounds.  The  captain  bought  them  gladly,  and 
reasonably.  Ten  or  fifteen  inches  of  old  hoop 
iron  did  the  trick.  A  sort  of  pen  was  hastily 
constructed  forward  of  the  windlass,  and  the 
grunters  were  hoisted  over  the  rail  and  de 
posited  there.  When  the  bands  that  confined 
their  legs  were  cut  their  powers  of  locomotion 
were  not  greatly  improved,  for  we  discovered 
their  hooves  had  grown  so  long  they  turned  up 
at  the  ends,  and  they  clattered  about  the  deck 
after  the  manner  of  a  cat  shod  in  walnut  shells. 
They  could  not  get  any  foothold.  The  ex 
planation  was  that  their  food  had  been  so 
abundant  and  easy  to  procure  they  did  not 
have  to  dig  and  root  after  the  manner  of  their 
less  fortunate  brethren  in  temperate  climes, 
and  their  toe-nails  had  not  worn  down  as  Na 
ture  intended. 

One  of  the  fattest  was  killed  that  day,  the 
cooper  officiating  as  butcher.  We  revelled  in 
that  fresh  pork,  and  every  man,  forward  and 
aft,  had  all  he  wanted  to  eat.  We  were  none 
of  us  disposed  to  be  hypercritical  after  eigh 
teen  months  of  salt  junk,  but  the  truth  is,  that 
meat  was  so  strongly  impregnated  with  cocoa- 
nut  oil,  the  fruit  having  been  about  their  sole 
diet,  that  no  one  but  sailors — and  sailors  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  207 

long  time  out  of  port  at  that — could  possibly 
have  held  it  down.  By  the  way,  we  also  laid 
in  a  stock  of  the  ripe  nuts  to  feed  the  pigs  as 
long  as  they  lasted,  and  splitting  those  nuts 
for  their  meals  became  one  of  our  principal 
occupations. 

One  of  the  animals  was  a  little  fellow,  that 
is,  it  did  not  scale  more  than  sixty  or  seventy 
pounds.  It  was  black,  and  sleek,  and  of  a  com 
panionable  disposition.  Jonas  adopted  her,  for 
she  was  of  the  softer  sex,  and  in  a  short  time 
she  became  a  general  favorite,  and  was  allowed 
the  run  of  the  deck.  Somebody  christened  her 
Jinny.  She  remained  true  to  Jonas,  who  was 
her  first  love,  but  would  come  trotting  along  at 
the  sound  of  her  name  like  a  pet  dog.  We 
acted  as  chiropodists  in  her  behalf,  and 
trimmed  her  feet  so  she  got  around  without 
trouble.  In  the  night  watches  she  would 
snuggle  up  to  Jonas,  poke  her  black  nose  affec 
tionately  under  his  arm,  and  go  off  to  sleep 
like  a  baby. 

The  Old  Man  was  downright  reckless  with 
that  fresh  pork.  Pig  after  pig  was  slaughtered 
by  Bungs,  and  it  was  dished  up  day  after  day, 
roasted,  fried,  boiled,  hashed  until  I  was  down 
right  sick  of  it,  and  yearned  for  an  honest  bit 


208  There  She  Blows 

of  salt  horse.  At  last  the  time  came  when 
there  were  no  more  occupants  of  the  pen  for 
ward  of  the  windlass.  Jinny  did  not  mourn 
her  compatriots,  and  nuzzled  around  the  deck, 
and  thrust  her  nuzzle  into  our  horny  hands  as 
trustingly  as  if  it  never  occurred  to  her  that 
she  was  destined  to  eventually  go  the  way  they 
had  gone.  It  made  us  all  sad  to  contemplate 
it,  and  we  awaited  with  trepidation  the  order 
to  come  from  the  Old  Man.  I  think  he  sensed 
the  general  feeling  for  little  escaped  his  obser 
vation,  and  once  I  saw  him  look  on  with  a 
quizzical  smile  when  he  caught  Stoddard  rub 
bing  her  back  and  she  appreciatively  humping 
herself. 

At  last  one  day  the  edict  went  forth.  We'd 
had  a  steady  diet  of  salt  food  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  and  if  it  had  been  any  other  animal 
than  the  beloved  Jinny  we  should  have  re 
joiced. 

"Slush,"  the  Captain  said  tersely,  "kill  the 
black  pig  to-day,  and  let  us  have  some  fresh 
pork." 

As  soon  as  he  had  given  the  order  he  re 
tired  to  his  after-cabin,  probably  to  be  out  of 
hearing  of  comment.  We  were  all  too  cast 
down  to  protest.  Tears  positively  stood  in 


rA  Whaling  Yarn  209 

Stoddard's  big  gray  eyes,  and  almost  brimmed 
over.  Jonas  could  not  control  his  voice  to  say 
what  he  thought.  Undoubtedly,  it  appeared 
to  him  in  the  light  of  a  cruel  and  uncalled-for 
slaughter.  I  had  just  observed  that  the  last 
cocoanut  had  been  fed  to  Jinny  that  morning, 
and  on  reflection  I  was  forced  to  agree  in  the 
captain's  evident  opinion  that  it  would  not  pay 
to  feed  a  pet  pig  on  ship's  stores.  I  noted 
after  a  bit  that  Jonas  had  recovered  his  speech, 
and  was  going  from  man  to  man  of  the  watch, 
and  giving  each  an  earnest  talk.  Then  he 
came  aft  to  where  Stoddard,  and  Morrison, 
and  I  stood  by  the  main  hatch,  and  said  to  the 
second  mate: 

"The  starboard  watch  wants  to  speak  to  the 
captain,  sir." 

The  officer  stared  at  the  old  Yankee  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  nodded ;  but  he  said : 

"It's  no  use,  Jonas.    He  won't  do  it!" 

Mr.  Stoddard  went  aft,  and  leaned  over  the 
open  skylight  by  the  binnacle : 

"Captain  Bourne,"  he  said  with  formal  re 
spect,  "the  starboard  watch  wishes  to  speak 
with  you." 

"The  foremast  hands?"  inquired  Uncle 
Zene's  voice  from  the  after-cabin. 


2io  There  She  Blows 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  the  ring  leader  if  he  shows  up  on  my 
quarter  deck  I'll  knock  his  fool  head  off.  And 
have  Bungs  slaughter  that  pig  at  once." 

His  tone  was  very  crisp,  and  Stoddard  went 
forward  in  a  hurry.  What  he  said  I  don't 
know,  but  no  deputation  loomed  up  aft,  and 
inside  of  two  minutes  Jinny  was  a  corpse.  The 
Old  Man  never  mentioned  the  matter  again, 
but  that  was  his  way.  She  made  pretty  good 
pork. 

Now  ensued  a  period  when  we  did  not  see  a 
spout  for  two  months.  We  were  on  the  Caro 
line  island  cruising  ground,  and  generally  out 
of  sight  of  land.  Scrimshawning  was  the 
favorite  occupation  during  our  leisure.  The 
word  is  a  difficult  one  to  give  an  exact  defini 
tion,  but  old  whalers  understand  it  to  mean 
the  manufacturing  of  any  trifle,  trinket,  or 
curio  out  of  materials  they  have  accumulated 
during  the  voyage.  Embellishing  whale's 
teeth  with  India  ink,  pricked  in  the  ivory  with 
infinite  patience  and  exactitude,  and  mounting 
them  in  pairs  is  one  thing  they  all  do,  or  have 
a  try  at.  A  pair  of  teeth,  carefully  mated  as  a 
team  of  carriage  horses,  is  selected.  The 
roughnesses  are  laboriously  taken  off  with 


A  Whaling  Yarn  211 

emery  paper,  and  they  are  rubbed  and  oiled 
until  polished  like  a  billiard  ball.  The  tooth  is 
now  ready  for  the  picture,  and  a  design  is 
selected  with  anxious  care  and  pricked  in, 
sometimes  in  colors.  Time  is  of  no  account 
in  this  labor,  and  the  minuteness  of  the  decora 
tion  is  supposed  to  add  to  its  merit.  A  sailor 
will  sometimes  put  in  the  spare  time  of  his 
whole  voyage  in  thus  scrimshawning  a  nice 
pair  of  teeth.  And  when  he  goes  ashore  his 
boarding  master  steals  them,  or  he  sells  them 
to  the  blind  pig  for  a  half  pint  of  New  England 
rum. 

Canes  from  the  jawbone  of  a  whale  were  also 
considered  desirable  as  objcts  dc  vcrtu.  This 
bone  is  always  saved,  and  is  very  dense  and 
close  grained,  and  takes  a  high  polish.  It  is 
also  elastic,  and  almost  unbreakable.  The 
amount  of  labor  that  goes  to  the  making  of  the 
elaborate  designs  in  vogue  among  the  old  shell 
backs  is  truly  formidable,  but  I  have  seen  them 
with  mimic  sea  serpents  entwined  the  whole 
lengths,  or  with  intricate  knots  patiently 
wrought  on  as  heads  or  knobs.  Jonas  was  es 
pecially  skilful  in  this  handicraft,  as  it  deserves 
to  be  called,  and  had  a  set  of  tools  for  the  work. 
He  even  did  inlaying  with  admirable  results. 


212  There  She  Blows 

He  had  gotten  hold  of  a  slab  of  ebony  at  one 
of  the  places  we  had  stopped,  or  from  some 
ship  we  had  gammed,  and  he  made  a  cane  of 
this  inlaid  with  ivory  and  sandalwood,  that  I 
believe  would  have  brought  a  hundred  dollars 
from  a  connoisseur.  This  shrewd  old  Yankee 
was  different  from  the  ordinary  shellback,  and 
had  never  lost  his  birthright  of  taking  in 
telligent  care  of  number  one.  He  told  me  he 
sold  everything  he  made  to  a  man  "down  east" 
at  the  end  of  his  voyage,  and  had  sometimes 
received  from  that  source  as  much  as  his  lay 
amounted  to.  Blood  will  tell. 


SUDDENLY  WE  HELD  OUR  BREATH,    AND   LISTENED   AS  11    OUR 
SOl'LS  DEPENDED  ON  OUR   HKARIM'.. 

See  Chapter  XVIII. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

PHESE  Caroline  islands  among  which  we 
*  were  cruising  are  not  unknown  to  those 
who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  and  have  in 
time  played  their  part  in  history.  For  instance, 
the  Confederate  privateer  Shenandoah  started 
in  to  demolish  the  whaling  industry  of  New 
England  during  the  war  of  the  Rebellion.  She 
cruised  through  the  South  Pacific,  burning  and 
sinking  the  blubber  hunters  where  ever  she 
could  find  them.  Among  other  places  she 
visited  in  her  search  was  Middle  Harbor  on 
Ascension,  the  main  island  of  the  group.  Here 
she  unluckily  found  a  dozen  whaling  vessels, 
who  had  heard  of  her  depredations  on  the  fleet, 
and  taken  refuge  in  this  secluded  place,  hoping 
to  escape.  They  were  burned  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  the  crews  compelled  to  take  to  the 
shore.  In  some  cases  the  whalemen  made  their 
home  among  the  natives  for  years,  and  others 
were  rescued  from  time  to  time  by  passing 
vessels. 

Apropos  of  the  Shenandoah,  the  Old  Man 
213 


214  There  She  Blows 

related  an  incident  where  her  captain  was  out 
witted  by  a  Nantucket  man  known  as  Captain 
Nye.  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  his  ship, 
but  it  was  sighted  and  chased  by  the  privateer. 
Nye — he  was  known  in  the  fleet  as  "Stinker 
Nye,"  from  his  habit  of  picking  up  dead  whales 
—at  once  hoisted  a  yellow  flag,  indicating 
there  was  smallpox  on  board,  and  lay  to.  The 
Shenandoah  dashed  fiercely  in  until  her  officers 
were  able  to  distinguish  the  ensign  flying  at 
the  gaff.  Then  her  captain  called  a  consul 
tation  of  her  officers,  and  they  decided  it  not 
worth  while  to  investigate  too  closely  into  the 
truth  of  that  marine  announcement.  Nye 
rummaged  his  flag  locker,  got  down  his  signal 
book,  and  began  to  appeal  to  the  Shenandoah 
for  aid  in  his  extremity.  Instead  of  giving  it, 
the  Confederate  hauled  his  wind  and  showed 
the  stern  of  the  privateer  to  the  whaler.  Nye 
made  straight  for  Nantucket,  and  it  is  on  rec 
ord  that  he  reached  his  home  port  with  a  ship 
full  of  sperm  oil  that  brought  war  prices. 

Captain  Bourne  was  tired  of  inaction,  and 
could  not  understand  why  he  did  not  see 
whales.  The  cruising  ground  \vas  the  best  in 
the  world,  and  he  said  he  knew  they  were  all 
around  us.  His  statement  was  confirmed  by 


A  Whaling  Yarn  215 

our  seeing  pieces  of  squid — one  of  the  principal 
foods  of  the  sperm  whale — afloat  in  the  water 
from  time  to  time.  The  Old  Man  prowled  up 
and  down  like  a  caged  hyena,  and  sniffed  the 
breeze  to  windward  a  hundred  times  a  day. 
He  wound  up  by  putting  us  all  on  edge  like 
himself.  The  whales  finally  made  their  ap 
pearance,  and  in  an  entirely  unexpected  way 
—at  least  to  me. 

One  night  we  had  the  middle  watch,  and 
Morrison  and  I  were  yarning  in  the  star-light 
at  the  vice-bench.  Unless  you  have  experienced 
one  you  can  Have  no  idea  of  these  starry  nights 
in  the  South  seas.  The  whole  firmament  is 
aglow  with  stars,  and  their  twinkling  reflec 
tions  mirror  themselves  in  the  calm,  slow- 
heaving  wave.  The  light  is  soft  and  far-reach 
ing,  while  the  world  is  filled  with  dimness  and 
mystery.  The  creaking  of  a  yard  at  its  slings 
as  it  swung  idly,  or  the  ripple  of  a  swell  as  it 
gently  broke  on  our  hull,  were  the  only  sounds 
that  marred  the  stillness. 

Suddenly  we  held  our  breath,  and  listened 
as  if  our  souls  depended  on  our  hearing  aright. 
The  noise  which  had  interrupted  our  conver 
sation  sounded  like  a  sigh  as  it  struck  our  ears 
again.  But  what  a  sigh!  It  made  the  night 


216  There  She  Blows 

quiver.  After  an  interval  it  came  again,  and 
this  time  it  seemed  to  me  I  detected  a  wheeze 
that  resembled  steam  struggling  from  a  valve. 
By  this  time  Mr.  Stoddard  had  come  softly 
from  the  quarter  deck,  and  stood  at  my  elbow. 
His  face  was  alive  with  excitement,  and  his 
lips  parted  to  speak.  In  such  moments  he  had 
an  amusing  habit — which  I  was  familiar  with 
— of  verbally  abusing  the  person  nearest  by. 
He  said  to  us  with  deep  earnestness: 

"You  cussed,  infernal  fools!  That's  a 
whale!" 

I  was  about  to  suggest  we  call  the  Old  Man, 
when  he  came  out  of  the  companion  way  in 
his  pajamas  to  take,  after  a  fashion  of  his,  a 
look  at  the  night.  Before  we  could  get  to  him 
with  our  story;  in  fact,  before  we  had  time  to 
start,  he  had  caught  a  sniff  of  the  night  air 
and  stiffened  like  a  pointer  dog  when  it  scents 
a  covey  of  quail.  The  next  moment  that  brob- 
dignagian,  sobbing  sigh  came  again,  and 
nearer  than  before.  He  cast  a  quick  glance 
around,  as  though  to  assure  himself  of  the 
general  condition  of  things,  and  came  to  us 
with  the  swiftness  of  a  bullet.  His  face  was 
radiant,  and  he  held  down  his  excitement  with 
difficulty : 


A  Whaling  Yarn  217 

"Get  forward  among  the  watch,  Ned !  Tell 
'em  if  they  make  a  sound  that  would  wake  a 
humming  bird,  I'll— I'll— blast  'em,  I'll  kill 
'em !  Get  the  port  watch  on  deck !  And  pass 
the  word  for  the  boat's  crews  to  stand  by  to 
lower  after  whales.  Make  'em  understand 
silence  is  necessary." 

Tom  started  aft  to  rout  the  officers  of  the 
port  watch  out,  and  Bungs,  and  the  cook,  and 
steward  from  the  steerage,  while  I  went  for 
ward.  It  was  a  weird  experience.  All  hands 
swarmed  up  without  a  sound.  Needful  orders 
were  given  in  whispers.  Not  the  end  of  a  rope 
was  allowed  to  fall  harshly  on  deck.  Even  the 
boat  tackles  were  slushed  by  the  captain's 
orders  to  forestall  their  squeaks. 

In  the  meantime  the  sound  of  the  spouting 
whale  became  perceptible  to  all,  and  shortly  it 
was  evident  there  were  a  number — probably  a 
school — of  them,  and  close  at  hand;  although 
the  facility  with  which  sound  travels  over  calm 
water  made  their  exact  position  a  matter  of 
uncertainty.  But  not  for  long.  All  in  a  mo 
ment  the  sea  about  the  Avola  was  alive  with 
black  forms  of  the  mammals.  They  brushed 
the  ship  at  times  with  their  bodies,  and  once  I 
held  my  breath  as  the  hump  of  one  scraped 


218  There  She  Blows 

along  the  keel,  and  made  the  whole  fabric  of 
the  vessel  tremble.  It  is  probable  they  thought 
the  hull  one  of  themselves,  for  they  displayed 
no  signs  of  uneasiness.  They  almost  covered 
the  ocean  as  far  as  I  could  see.  Then  came 
a  moment  when  there  were  none  in  the  im 
mediate  vicinity,  and  the  Old  Man,  who  had 
been  awaiting  such  an  opportunity  to  get  the 
boats  in  the  water,  gave  the  word  to  lower. 
Stoddard  took  my  place  in  the  bow  as  we  left 
the  ship,  and  said: 

"We  won't  use  the  iron  to-night,  Ned.  I'll 
do  the  work  with  the  lance !" 

I  comprehended  that  our  mission  was  simply 
to  kill  all  we  could,  and  not  attempt  to  make 
fast  to  any.  In  my  heart  I  cordially  approved 
this  plan,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  being 
dragged  about  by  a  furious  whale  in  the  midst 
of  this  school  was  about  as  promising  a  form  of 
suicide  as  could  be  devised.  It  did  not  take  us 
long  to  get  at  the  work.  The  crew  sat  on  the 
gunwales,  and  handled  their  paddles  without 
even  rippling  the  water,  and  we  were  among 
them  again.  One  thrust  forth  a  great  snout 
close  by  the  stern,  and  I  found  myself  gazing 
square  into  his  eye.  I  suppose  he  did  not  see 
me,  or  sense  what  I  was,  but  in  my  bewilder- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  219 

ment  I  certainly  expected  to  see  his  expression 
change. 

A  grunt,  such  as  you  would  expect  from  a 
mastodon,  attracted  my  attention,  and  I  saw 
Stoddard  had  jabbed  his  lance  into  the  vitals 
of  one  of  the  monsters.  He  did  the  same  to 
another,  and  a  third.  To  my  surprise,  beyond 
an  involuntary  shudder,  which  may  be  de 
scribed  as  a  wince,  and  the  invariable  grunt, 
they  took  their  death  wounds  silently,  and  as 
if  they  did  not  understand  what  was  happening. 
I  imagine  the  explanation  lies  in  the  fact  that 
they  have  absolutely  no  nervous  system,  and 
little  sense  of  physical  pain  in  their  tremendous 
frames. 

At  any  rate  we  had  been  fully  five  minutes 
in  among  them,  and  the  second  mate  had  lanced 
at  least  five,  more  or  less  effectively,  before 
there  was  any  sign  of  their  waking  up  to  the 
situation.  Of  course,  the  other  boats  were 
somewhere,  doing  the  same  work,  though  I  did 
not  attempt  to  keep  track  of  them,  having,  it 
seemed  to  me,  plenty  to  do  in  handling  that 
steering  oar  so  the  boat  was  not  hoisted  on  the 
hump  of  some  inadvertent  whale.  Mr.  Stod 
dard  had  caught  sight  of  a  large  cow  a  little 
distance  away,  and  we  were  trying  to  get  her 


22O  There  She  Blows 

into  a  position  where  he  could  kill  it,  when 
there  suddenly  came  a  change.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  whole  school  simultaneously  awoke  to 
their  danger  and  as  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out,  just  as  Stoddard  made  his  dart  three  of 
the  wounded  animals  selected  the  moment  to 
go  into  their  flurries. 

Imagine  fifty,  or  perhaps  a  hundred  whales, 
averaging  forty  tons  in  weight,  confined  in  a 
limited  area,  plunging  and  rolling  around  like  a 
school  of  porpoises.  That  is  what  these  were 
doing,  only  theirs  was  mad  terror  instead  of 
frolic.  I  stood  at  the  steering  oar  expecting 
annihilation  every  second,  and  the  men,  paddle 
in  hand,  stared  stupidly  at  the  commotion. 
Stoddard  was  the  only  one  that  kept  his  head, 
or  imagined  there  was  a  possibility  of  escaping 
the  peril  surrounding  us.  His  voice  was  hard 
and  tense,  and  made  us  leap  to  obey : 

"Avast  paddles!  Pull  all!  Ned,  lay  her 
head  straight  for  the  bark !" 

He  set  the  example  by  dropping  into  the 
harpooner  thwart,  and  pulling  like  Hercules 
himself.  I  perceived  the  bulk  of  the  school  were 
on  the  side  away  from  the  ship,  and  there  was 
a  bare  chance  we  might  be  able  to  get  through 
without  running  into  one  of  them.  Of  course, 


fA  Whaling  Yarn  221 

such  a  collision  would  be  accidental,  for  the 
attention  of  the  whales  was  not  directed  to  us. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  caution  on  our  part. 
It  was  no  longer  necessary.  Every  man  pulled 
as  hard  as  he  knew  how,  and  I  simply  held  the 
boat  straight.  Several  times  we  shaved  their 
bodies  by  a  hair's  breadth,  and  once  I  thought 
we  were  surely  gone.  A  large  cow — I  took  her 
to  be  the  one  the  second  mate  had  last  lanced— 
was  lying  directly  across  our  path.  I  was  pre 
paring  to  double  her  flukes  when  she  sprung 
into  her  flurry,  and  shot  with  the  speed  of  a 
locomotive  straight  at  us.  The  whale  boat  had 
good  way  on,  and  I  gave  it  a  heave  with  the 
long  steering  oar  that  turned  it  at  right  angles 
to  the  course  we  had  been  pursuing.  I  nearly 
ran  on  another's  hump,  but  my  diversion,  and 
the  fact  that  the  wounded  cow  was  beginning 
to  swing  in  the  circle  that  seems  to  be  a  law  of 
their  death  struggle,  saved  our  bacon  by  the 
narrowest  margin  imaginable.  The  next  mo 
ment  we  reach  the  Avola,  and  the  shipkeepers 
had  the  tackles  overhauled  ready  for  us  to 
hook  on. 

The  others  had  also  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  bark  was  preferable  as  an  abiding  place 
to  an  open  boat  at  this  time,  and,  in  fact,  they 


222  There  She  Blows 

had  come  aboard  before  we  had.  Captain 
Bourne's  heart  appeared  to  be  filled  with  joy, 
for  this  "run  in"  with  a  school  of  whales  in 
the  night  was  the  rarest  kind  of  thing  in  the 
way  of  luck,  and  it  looked  as  if  we  had  taken 
advantage  of  it  to  the  utmost  without  a  single 
casualty.  He  questioned  each  of  the  officers 
minutely  to  gain  an  idea  of  the  probable  results 
of  the  raid.  The  first  mate  claimed  he  had 
lanced  four,  and  felt  sure  of  three  of  them. 
Fletcher  said  he  had  certainly  killed  two.  Tom 
Morrison  was  willing  to  bet  on  three  he  had 
struck  giving  up  the  ghost,  with  a  possible 
fourth.  That  left  us  on  top  of  the  heap,  for 
Stoddard  asserted  five  out  of  the  six  he  had  a 
chance  at  were  as  good  as  in  the  try  pot.  Uncle 
Zene  counted  them  up  on  his  fingers: 

"Thirteen  you're  sure  of!  That's  an  un 
lucky  number,  but  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  take 
our  risks.  Between  all  you  ain't  sure  about,  it's 
apt  to  foot  up  more.  If  it  don't,  it  will  be  less. 
I  kinder  hate  to  count  chickens  before  they're 
hatched,  but  I'm  going  to  this  time.  All  hands 
lay  aft  to  splice  the  main  brace !" 

When  Uncle  Zene  did  a  thing,  he  did  it  roy 
ally.  He  brought  out  a  demijohn  from  his 
private  stores,  and  every  man  on  board  had  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  223 

jolt  that  made  his  hair  twitch.  It  was  by  this 
time  beginning  to  show  glimmers  of  dawn  in 
the  east,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  sun  sprang 
full-dazzling  into  the  sky.  The  mastheads 
were  already  aloft,  but  the  Old  Man  mounted 
the  rigging  to  the  main  top  himself  with  his 
telescope  swung  over  his  shoulder.  He  in 
tended  to  look  up  and  count  those  dead  whales 
himself.  No  one  ventured  to  forestall  him. 
After  a  bit  he  snapped  his  glass  shut,  and 
started  for  the  deck. 

"Fifteen  dead  whales  in  sight!"  he  an 
nounced.  "Lower  away  all,  and  string  them 
alongside.  Slush,  give  each  crew  a  chunk  of 
beef  or  pork,  and  plenty  of  hard  tack.  No 
breakfast  this  morning.  It's  the  biggest  cut- 
ting-in  I  ever  had,  and  we've  got  to  work  sharp 
to  save  the  blubber." 

I  did  not  realise  at  the  beginning  what  a  job 
we  had  before  us,  but  the  officers  evidently 
did,  and  they  sprang  at  the  work  like  tigers  at 
raw  meat.  Not  a  second  was  lost,  and  the  crew 
was  driven  to  its  fullest  capacity.  Two  of  the 
boats  stretched  out  to  gather  the  more  distant 
carcases,  and  the  other  two  attended  to  those 
nearer  by.  As  fast  as  we  brought  one  to  the 
Avola  it  was  secured,  and  we  veered  off  after 


224  There  She  Blows 

another  at  top  speed.  Fortunately  ten  of  our 
victims  lay  within  a  quarter  mile  of  the  ship. 
The  other  five  had  spread  out  in  their  dying 
convulsions,  and  were  at  different  points  of 
the  compass,  though  within  a  mile  and  a  half 
radius  of  the  bark.  The  outlying  boats  got 
them  together  by  the  time  we  had  brought  the 
nearer  ten  alongside.  As  there  was  little 
chance  of  the  Avola  sailing  down  to  those  five 
in  a  light  wind,  and  towing  ten  more,  the  four 
boats  joined  forces,  and  managed  to  yank  them 
to  the  hawse  hole  by  noon. 

"Dinner,  the  port  watch !"  sung  out  the  Old 
Man,  as  we  came  aboard.  "Mr.  Stoddard,  get 
your  tackles  aloft,  and  see  all  clear  to  start  cut 
ting  in.  It's  all  hands  on  deck  until  this  blubber 
is  housed!" 

The  lucky  port  watch  went  below  for  its 
meal,  and  we  of  the  almost  famished  starboard 
gang  got  the  tackles  up,  and  the  cutting  stage 
rigged.  By  that  time  the  port  watch  was  back, 
and  we  had  an  opportunity  to  devour  our  salt 
horse.  Twenty  minutes  were  all  that  were  al 
lowed,  and  Stoddard  stood  at  the  scuttle  as  the 
last  second  expired.  Pans  were  stowed  away 
unwashed,  and  the  men  were  at  the  windlass 
before  he  had  a  chance  to  open  his  lips.  He  did 


A  Whaling  Yarn  225 

not  need  to,  for  they  saw  he  meant  business, 
and  the  burly  second  mate  was  not  a  good  man 
to  keep  waiting  when  important  work  was 
going  forward. 

Uncle  Zene  had  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  and 
was  the  first  man  on  the  cutting  stage  with  a 
spade.  The  Old  Man  could  work  too,  and  in  a 
jiffy  he  had  a  section  spaded  loose,  and  called 
out: 

"Hook!" 

There  were  three  other  boatsteerers,  and  all 
pretty  lively  fellows,  but  Long  Island  Ned  was 
the  first  down  on  that  whale,  hook  in  hand : 

"All  ready,  sir!"  I  said,  as  I  passed  it 
through  the  hole  in  the  blubber. 

"Heave  away!"  he  called  to  the  windlass 
hands. 

"Make  a  noise  there!  Let  us  know  you're 
on  deck!"  he  added. 

At  this  Jonas  piped  up  with : 

"Oh,  a  bully  boat,  and  a  bully  crew," 
Chorus : 

"High-o-o,  high-o-o!" 
Jonas : 

"And  the  captain,  he's  a  bully,  too !" 


226  There  She  Blows 

Chorus : 

"High-o-o,  high-o-o,  hay!" 

I  don't  know  whether  Jonas  had  any  inten 
tion  in  his  chantey,  but  I  certainly  agreed  if  it 
was  meant  to  describe  Uncle  Zene. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

THAT  affair  of  oil  was  like  a  battle.  The 
officers  sprang  at  their  work,  and  urged 
the  crew  on  with  a  fierce  alacrity  that  made  the 
dullest  foremast  hand  move  with  some  of  the 
spirit  that  drove  the  after  gang.  Whale  after 
whale  was  stripped  of  its  blubber,  and  its  car 
case  turned  adrift  as  another  was  warped  up 
under  the  cutting  stage.  The  Old  Man  and 
brawny  Joe  Stoddard,  the  latter  now  stripped 
to  the  waist,  leaned  over  the  life  line  and  cut 
and  hacked  with  incredible  fury,  and  the  tackles 
creaked  with  the  weight  of  the  ascending  blan 
ket  strip,  while  the  windlass  brakes  went  clink- 
clank  to  the  chantey  of  Jonas. 

"Two  blocks!"  ' 

A  boatsteerer  was  there  like  lightning;  the 
boarding  knife  severed  the  strip,  and  while  it 
swung  inboard  the  next  one  started  to  the  mast 
head  to  the  tune  of  clink-clank.  There  was  too 
much  blubber  on  hand  and  in  sight  to  pursue 
ordinary  methods.  The  main  hatch  was 

227 


228  There  She  Blows 

broken  open,  and  the  blankets  went  below  until 
we  had  more  time  to  attend  to  them.  This 
desperate  battle  was  being  fought  out  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  that  oil-bearing  coat  off  the 
whales,  and  where  it  would  not  blast. 

All  count  of  time  was  lost.  The  bell  did  not 
tap  unless  one  of  the  officers  happened  to  think 
of  it.  Eight  bells,  the  beginning  of  the  dog 
watches  was  not  even  announced,  and  I  don't 
believe  a  soul  thought  of  it.  At  four  bells,  six 
o'clock,  we  had  four  stripped.  Their  heads 
were  moored  astern.  We  had  not  room  for 
them  on  deck,  and  anyhow  their  more  unctuous 
blubber  would  not  blast  like  the  tougher  en 
velopment  of  their  bodies  that  resolved  itself 
into  india  rubber  through  the  action  of  the  sun 
and  air. 

"Supper,  the  starboard  watch!"  yelled  Slush, 
coming  from  his  galley  laden  with  the  grub 
kids  for  the  forward  gang. 

"Supper,  captain,"  announced  the  little  stew 
ard,  politely. 

The  Old  Man  handed  his  spade  to  the  first 
mate.  He  had  wielded  it  five  weary  hours  with 
a  cunning  and  energy  that  would  have  knighted 
a  hero  of  old  who  so  worthily  did  his  devoir  on 
the  field  of  battle. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  229 

All  night  we  toiled,  and  not  one  of  the  ship's 
company  closed  an  eye  in  sleep.  The  crew  were 
still  cheerful  and  in  good  condition,  while  the 
after-gang,  upheld  by  a  higher  energy,  had  not 
abated  a  jot  of  their  superb  vigor. 

When  we  ate  breakfast  nine  of  the  whales 
were  cut-in.  The  ship  was  a  reeking,  bloody, 
greasy  shambles;  the  air  was  filled  with  rav 
enous,  screaming  sea  birds,  and  the  number 
less  sharks  in  the  sea  fought  over  the  feast  we 
were  providing  as  fierce  curs  wrangle  over  a 
bone. 

Twenty  minutes  for  breakfast,  and  we 
turned  to.  I  began  to  feel  that  it  would  not  be 
unpleasant  to  sit  down  and  rest,  but  I  looked 
at  Uncle  Zene,  who  momentarily  unoccupied, 
paced  the  quarter  with  the  swift  intensity  of  a 
young  athlete,  and  told  myself  I  was  only  lazy. 

There  being  almost  no  wind  the  wheel  was 
lashed  amidships,  and  saved  a  man  for  the  real 
work.  Only  one  masthead  lookout  went  aloft, 
and  he  at  the  main.  Everything  was  con 
centred  on  getting  that  blubber  aboard.  Eleven 
whales  cut  in  at  noon,  and  the  four  that 
bobbed  in  the  sea  awaiting  our  ministrations 
looked  to  be  the  biggest  of  the  whole  bunch. 
But  there  was  not  a  word  of  grumble,  though 


230  There  She  Blows 

perhaps  all  did  not  move  so  alertly  as  at  the  be 
ginning.  And  then  came  a  thunder  bolt  out 
of  a  clear  sky ! 

"There  she  blows !  There  she  blows !  There 
she  blows !"  from  the  masthead. 

"What  do  you  make  of  'em,  sir?"  hailed 
Uncle  Zene. 

"A  school  of  sperm  whales  a  mile  and  a  half 
on  the  port  bow,  sir !" 

"Aye,  aye."  The  Old  Man  considered  the 
news  a  moment.  Then,  "Lower  away  the  waist 
and  starboard  boats !" 

Thank  heaven  mine  was  the  waist  boat! 
Anything  to  vary  the  monotony,  but  I  could  see 
we  were  laying  up  more  trouble  for  ourselves, 
and  if  we  were  to  add  a  few  more  dead  whales 
to  those  four  already  lying  by  the  Avola,  it  was 
an  even  chance  if  we'd  ever  get  through  the 
job  of  cutting  them  in  and  trying  them  out. 
But  Stoddard  seemed  to  have  taken  a  fresh 
hold  on  life  as  he  gripped  the  steering  oar,  and 
he  called  to  me  with  a  grin : 

"This  will  take  six  months  off  the  length  of 
the  voyage,  you  blasted  fool!  The  girls  of  New 
Bedford  have  got  hold  of  the  old  Avola's  tow 
rope,  I  guess." 

I  hadn't  thought  of  taking  this  view  of  it, 


A  Whaling  Yarn  231 

and  it  did  hearten  me  some.  We  pulled  away 
after  the  school  as  if  we  had  slept  our  usual 
time  the  night  before.  A  change  of  occupation 
is  mighty  recuperative,  and  then  the  second 
mate's  steel  gray  eyes  had  a  glint  in  them  that 
made  one  feel  he  was  apt  to  do  something  un 
comfortable  if  we  did  not  meet  his  expectations. 

We  reached  the  whales,  and  so  did  the  star 
board  boat.  They  were  tame  and  easy  to  get 
at,  and  Stoddard  and  Morrison  were  the  very 
men  to  take  advantage  of  their  opportunities. 
The  result  was  that  long  after  midnight  we 
came  alongside  the  Avola  with  a  fresh  bunch  of 
six  to  take  the  place  of  those  the  shipkeepers 
had  disposed  of  during  our  absence.  The  fires 
had  been  started  while  we  were  away,  and  the 
roar  of  the  flames,  and  clatter  of  the  mincing 
machine  were  added  to  the  clink-clank  of  the 
never-ceasing  windlass  brakes. 

Slush  gave  us  something  to  eat,  and  we  went 
to  work  again.  We  had  now  been  at  it  with 
out  a  break  nearly  thirty-six  hours,  and  my 
muscles  ached,  and  the  small  of  my  back  felt 
as  if  somebody  had  been  hammering  it  with  a 
belaying  pin.  As  I  was  young  and  strong,  it  is 
probable  most  of  my  shipmates  felt  somewhat 
as  I  did,  but  I  failed  to  see  any  indication  of  the 


232  There  She  Blows 

fact  in  the  mien  of  the  after-gang.  Their  jaws 
were  set  pretty  tight,  and  when  they  spoke  they 
evidently  meant  what  they  said,  but  they 
worked  with  a  fiercer  determination  than  ever, 
and  scorned  to  hang  out  any  signals  of  distress. 
Uncle  Zene  carried  the  banner.  There  was  no 
need  for  him  to  do  a  lick  of  work,  and  if  he  had 
seen  fit  he  could  have  been  in  his  bunk  and 
asleep,  but  he  was  here,  and  there,  and  every 
where  a  hand  could  help,  alert  as  a  boy,  and  a 
cheerful  grin  on  his  withered  phiz  that  some 
how  put  heart  into  each  one  it  confronted. 
And  when  there  was  no  place  for  him  to  lend  a 
hand,  he  skipped  up  and  down  that  quarter  of 
his  like  a  six-day  pedestrian,  and  I'd  back  him 
with  my  lay  to  have  beaten  the  most  of  them 
out. 

We  pegged  along  somehow  the  balance  of 
the  night.  There  was  a  big  copper  of  strong 
coffee  kept  hot  in  the  galley,  and  at  intervals 
Slush  served  it  to  the  poor  fellows  at  the  wind 
lass.  It  helped  them  out  some,  but  they  were 
nearly  at  the  end  of  their  endurance.  These 
strong,  muscular  seamen  were  giving  up.  The 
spirit  which  sustained  the  Old  Man,  and 
through  him,  the  whole  after-gang,  was  not  in 


A  Whaling  Yarn  233 

them.  When  their  physical  strength  failed, 
they  had  no  reserve  of  nerve  force  to  fall  back 
on. 

Nevertheless  the  whales — now  only  four  left 
—had  to  be  cut  in,  and  there  was  no  one  else  to 
do  it.  At  daybreak  those  dagoes  hung  over 
the  windlass  arms  with  their  faces  white  and 
drawn,  and  although  brave  old  Jonas — who 
was  not  one  of  them  in  make-up — started  in 
with  a  chantey  that  would  wake  the  dead,  they 
failed  to  respond.  Uncle  Zene  plunged  into  his 
after-cabin,  and  reappeared  with  a  demijohn 
and  a  tin  cup.  This  was  something  he  kept  for 
emergencies.  It  was  a  fiery  rice  brandy  that 
would  eat  a  hole  in  a  stove  lid.  He  gave  each 
man  at  the  brakes  a  brimming  cup — it  must 
have  held  a  half  pint.  They  took  it  gratefully, 
and  without  winking.  In  a  moment  the  potent 
spirit  coursed  through  their  veins,  and  put  some 
vim  in  them,  but  the  dose  had  to  be  repeated 
more  than  once.  They  were  nearly  dead  with 
fatigue  and  want  of  rest.  At  the  last  Stoddard 
came  forward,  and  shook  them  up.  Two  that 
fairly  went  to  sleep  on  the  brake-handle  he 
seized,  one  in  each  strong  fist,  and  knocked 
their  heads  together  until  they  screamed,  and 


234  There  She  Blows 

begged  for  mercy.  When  he  did  let  up  they 
went  to  work  as  if  they  were  thoroughly  re 
freshed.  It  did  more  good  than  the  Old  Man's 
alcohol,  for  the  portion  allotted  those  two  in 
vigorated  all  the  rest.  He  made  them  work  as 
a  horse  does  under  the  lash. 

At  noon  that  day  the  last  carcase  was  cast 
adrift.  We  had  been  at  the  task  sixty  hours 
on  end — without  a  wink  of  sleep,  or  a  moment's 
rest.  When  the  cook  staggered  to  the  fore 
castle  scuttle  with  the  mess  kid  for  the  watch, 
the  captain  said : 

"The  port  watch  eat,  and  turn  in  four 
hours!" 

But  the  kid  stood  where  Slush  left  it,  and 
those  men  tumbled  head  first  into  their  bunks, 
greasy  clothing  and  all,  and  were  snoring  be 
fore  they  had  pulled  their  legs  after  them.  We 
of  the  starboard  gang  had  four  more  weary 
hours  of  it,  so  the  crew  ate  the  dinner  scorned 
by  the  others  who  could  get  the  more  needed 
sleep,  and  tried  to  believe  it  was  a  square 
deal. 

Our  turn  came  at  last,  as  all  things  do.  The 
port  watch  stumbled  on  deck  at  eight  bells 
(four  o'clock)  more  dead  than  alive.  They 
had  not  had  half  their  sleep  out,  and  did  not 


A  Whaling  Yarn  235 

realize  that  what  they  had,  did  them  any  good 
until  they  moved  around,  and  got  their  be 
numbed  faculties  again  awake. 

Morrison  and  I  took  the  try  pots  when  we 
turned  out  later,  and  we  kept  the  fires  going 
so  fiercely  it  was  all  we  could  do  to  ladle  fast 
enough  into  the  cooler  to  keep  the  oil  from 
scorching — which  I  believe  would  have  been 
a  capital  offense  if  Uncle  Zene  or  the  second 
mate  had  found  it  out.  The  hands  were  busy 
with  short-handled  spades  getting  the  blanket 
strips  into  horse  pieces,  and  the  mincer  was 
working  like  the  fly  wheel  of  a  high  pressure 
engine,  reducing  them  to  food  for  the  try  pots. 

The  Old  Man  was  below  hitting  his  pillow, 
and  though  every  one  on  deck  was  industrious 
as  the  proverbial  ant,  it  really  seemed  a  peace 
ful  scene  in  contrast  with  what  we  had  passed 
through.  Now  Bungs'  functions  became  im 
portant,  and  he  began  to  earn  the  eightieth 
lay  he  had  signed  for.  He  was  setting  up 
casks  as  deftly  and  busily  as  though  his  life 
depended  on  it.  The  minute  he  had  one 
hooped  and  tightened  up  it  was  filled  from 
the  cooler,  and  rolled  one  side,  and  up-ended 
so  as  to  occupy  less  deck  room.  He  had  to 
keep  close  watch  on  these  filled  casks,  for  hot 


236  There  She  Blows 

oil  is  about  the  most  confounded,  penetrating 
fluid  any  one  ever  attempted  to  confine  in  a 
wooden  receptacle.  The  first  thing  he  knew 
two  or  three  would  begin  to  dribble  a  drop 
or  two  down  the  interstices  between  the  staves. 
This  was  as  significant  as  a  crack  in  a  dam, 
and  he  would  spring  on  it  with  his  hammer  and 
caulking  iron,  and  a  bunch  of  flag — apparently 
dried  bulrushes — and  the  way  he'd  walk  into 
it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see.  These  great 
casks  always  littered  the  decks  three  or  four 
days  after  an  affair  of  oil,  on  account  of  this 
unfortunate  proclivity;  and  even  after  they 
were  stowed  away,  maybe  in  the  lower  hold, 
they  were  still  liable  to  spring  a  leak,  and  give 
us  a  tremendous  job  to  shift  their  bulky,  un- 
ihandy  weight  to  get  at  the  recreant  one,  which 
was  always  in  the  most  inaccessible  place. 

But  I  am  getting  away  from  the  story  of 
this  one  particular  affair  of  oil.  Oh,  how  the 
Avola  did  smell  to  heaven  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day  after  we  had  that  star-light  frolic 
among  the  whales !  Not  one  of  those  blanket 
strips,  of  which  a  goodly  store  still  remained 
between  decks,  would  have  been  allowed  within 
the  limits  of  a  self-respecting  community  on 
land.  But  thanks  to  our  hurricane  work  in 


A  Whaling  Yarn  237 

getting  them  under  cover  they  remained  work 
able,  and  the  spading,  mincing,  and  trying  out' 
went  on  as  relentlessly  as  Fate.  After  all,  we 
had  the  best  of  it  now.  We  were  beginning  to 
feel  as  if  there  were  a  prospect  of  our  really 
getting  rested  after  a  time,  and  were  standing 
oil  watches,  six  hours  on,  and  six  hours  off. 
I  began  to  feel  chipper,  and  then— 

"There  she  blows!     There  she  blows!" 

The  Old  Man  was  certainly  hooked  up  dif 
ferently  from  the  rest  of  us.  He  was  on  the 
head  of  a  cask  in  the  waist  in  a  twinkle,  and 
bellowing  cheerfully  to  Mr.  Haveron,  who  had 
raised  them: 

''What  do  you  make  of  them,  sir  ?  It  sounds 
like  more  luck!" 

"Three  sperm  whales  dead  ahead.  Three 
miles  off!" 

"Keep  'em  in  sight,  sir,  and  sing  out !  We'll 
crawl  up  on  'em  a  bit.  Stand  by  your  boats, 
the  port  watch!" 

That  left  us  of  the  starboard  draft  shipkeep- 
ers,  and  sticking  to  the  stinking  blubber.  The 
other  task  was  preferable,  but  I  was  not  a  free 
agent,  so  I  fired  up.  It  seemed  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  kill  whales  at  this  period. 
We  sailed  right  up  on  those  three,  and  Haveron 


238  There  She  Blows 

and  Fletcher  lowered,  and  in  half  an  hour  each 
was  fast  to  a  fifty-barrel  cow.  Uncle  Zene  was 
all  smiles,  and  out  came  the  cutting  tackles 
and  staging  again,  and  by  noon  we  had  them 
alongside,  and  were  at  work  on  them. 

And  the  next  day  before  we  had  hoisted  the 
last  junk  aboard  we  had  raised  them  again, 
and  the  rain  of  good  fortune  continued.  Two 
days  after  we  got  into  a  school.  This  time  all 
four  boats  lowered,  and  we  killed  five.  Stod- 
dard  said  it  was  easy  as  eating  pie,  and  he 
ought  to  know,  for  he  was  a  Yank.  For  my 
part,  it  wasn't  pie  to  me.  I  was  getting  pretty 
sick  of  whaling  as  an  every  day  occupation.  It 
was  like  the  old  times  of  a  week  back,  when  we 
got  the  fluke  ropes  of  those  five  through  the 
hawse  hole.  But  when  old  Jonas  started  up— 

"I'm  agoin'  to  Looseyanna 
For  to  hug  my  Maryanna !" 

There  was  a  perfect  sea  howl  of  a  chorus, 
and  every  man  of  us  realised  that  all  this  hard 
work  was  bringing  us  nearer  home  rapidly. 

What  I  have  given  you  is  the  history  of  the 
first  week  of  one  of  the  most  successful  catches 
ever  made  in  the  South  Pacific  in  a  given  time. 
We  continued  on  week  after  week  until  forty- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  239 

three  days  had  elapsed,  and  during  that  entire 
period  we  had  whales  alongside  or  blubber  on 
deck,  and  the  try  pots  sizzling.  Three  times 
a  week  on  an  average,  we  raised  whales.  At 
the  end  of  the  season — I  call  the  six  weeks  the 
season — we  had  stowed  down  seventeen  hun 
dred  and  sixty-five  barrels  of  sperm  oil.  We 
were  worn  gaunt  as  grey-hounds,  but  fairly 
happy  at  that,  for  on  the  fiftieth  day  from  the 
night  we  reckoned  time,  that  of  the  Star-light 
Massacre,  the  Old  Man  came  on  deck,  and  said 
to  the  first  mate : 

"Set  every  thing  alow  and  aloft,  sir,  and 
square  away  for  Middle  Harbor." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

T  ONAS  had  told  me  shortly  after  we  left 
^  New  Bedford  that  it  was  just  as  well  for 
us  we  were  drafted  into  the  starboard  watch 
instead  of  the  port,  which  was  headed  by  Mr. 
Haveron  the  first  mate.  He  was  a  man  of 
domineering  temper  at  the  best  of  times,  but 
during  the  six  weeks  past  he  had  allowed  his 
heat  of  mind  to  influence  his  actions  to  a  greater 
degree  than  ordinarily.  The  intensity  of  the 
work,  which  had  more  or  less  set  all  our  nerves 
on  edge,  had  soured  him  so  he  could  not  always 
control  himself. 

For  some  reason  the  mate  and  I  had  never 
been  friendly.  Luckily  we  had  not  much  to  do 
with  each  other,  for  except  during  the  dog 
watches  when  all  hands  were  on  deck,  I  never 
came  in  contact  with  him  or  under  his  author 
ity.  Latterly  however,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  had  begun  to  single  me  out  to  pick  on. 
I  had  fallen  in  the  habit  of  yarning,  during  the 
night  watches,  with  Stoddard  or  Morrison  on 

240 


A  Whaling  Yarn  241 

the  weather  quarter  deck.  This  was  not  ex 
actly  in  accordance  with  whaleship  etiquette, 
for  strictly  speaking,  the  boatsteerer's  station  is 
amidships,  and  he  is  only  supposed  to  be  on  the 
quarter  when  called  there  by  duty.  Haveron 
had  seen  me  there  on  several  occasions  when 
he  had  come  on  deck  during  his  watch  below, 
and  each  time  he  scowled  in  a  way  that  made 
me  perfectly  aware  how  he  felt  in  regard  to 
my  taking  the  liberty.  But  it  seemed  to  me 
that  if  Stoddard  and  Morrison  permitted  the 
privilege  it  was  none  of  his  business,  so  I  kept 
right  on. 

It  was  the  same  night  we  bore  up  for  Middle 
Harbor  that  the  unexpected  climax  came.  I 
had  been  yarning  with  Tom  by  the  binnacle, 
and  had  started  to  go  forward.  As  I  reached 
the  mizzen  rigging  the  mate,  who  had  come 
on  deck  while  my  back  was  turned  to  the  cabin 
companion-way,  ran  up  behind  me,  and  gave 
me  a  violent  shove  forward.  I  stumbled  over 
the  iron  ring  bolt  at  the  corner  of  the  main 
hatch,  and  went  down  on  my  face.  I  heard 
an  inarticulate  roar  of  rage  as  I  fell,  and  recog 
nized  that  I  had  been  attacked.  I  also  bumped 
my  nose  against  the  coaming  of  the  hatch  so 
the  claret  spurted.  Altogether  when  I  leaped 


242  There  She  Blows 

to  my  feet  I  was  not  so  calm  as  usual. 
Haveron  sprung  at  me  again  before  I  was 
fairly  steady  on  my  pins,  and  grabbed  me 
fiercely  by  the  throat.  I  could  see  by  the  moon 
light  that  his  face  was  red  with  fury  as  he 
yelled : 

"You  infernal  foremast  scrub,  I'll  teach  you 
to  keep  your  own  place!" 

If  the  affair  had  come  up  more  gradually 
no  doubt  I  should  have  acted  with  greater  dis 
cretion,  for  I  was  perfectly  aware  that  under 
no  circumstances  is  it  permissible  on  board  ship 
to  resist  a  superior  officer.  But  as  he  began  to 
dig  his  thumb  into  my  windpipe  I  forgot  every 
thing  else  in  the  desire  to  get  even  with  him, 
and  swung  in  my  right  fist  with  a  round  arm 
blow  that  caught  him  on  the  edge  of  his  cheek 
bone  under  the  ear.  He  went  over  as  limp  as 
a  dish  rag,  and  his  skull  smacked  hard  against 
the  same  ring  bolt  as  I  had  encountered  in  the 
first  instance.  Then  he  rolled  over  and  lay 
with  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  his  arms  out 
stretched. 

The  suddenness  of  his  collapse  startled  me 
and  springing  forward  I  knelt  beside  him  in 
sudden  contrition,  as  Morrison  and  Stoddard 
came  running  to  the  scene. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  243 

"You  cussed  fool!"  exclaimed  the  second 
mate.  "You've  killed  him." 

Morrison  lifted  the  prostrate  man's  head, 
and  felt  the  jagged  wound  in  his  skull  the  iron 
had  made.  Finally  he  said : 

"He's  all  right.  Knocked  out,  that's  all! 
And  served  the  crazy  loon  right.  He  was  dead 
wrong." 

"Belay  your  jaw  tackle!"  warned  Stoddard 
in  a  swift  whisper.  "The  old  man  is  coming." 

I  arose  to  my  feet,  my  anger  all  gone,  and 
stood  like  a  culprit  awaiting  condemnation. 
Uncle  Zene  saw  at  once  something  was  amiss, 
and  was  among  us  like  a  flash.  He  took  one 
glance  at  Haveron's  white  face,  and  turned  on 
us  like  an  old  lion: 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  demanded  as  he 
looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "Who  has  been 
man-handling  my  chief  mate  ?" 

His  voice  was  ominous,  and  I  could  perceive 
the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  digging  into  the 
palm.  It  was  a  good  deal  like  stepping  up  to 
the  rack,  but  I  managed  to  twist  my  lips  into 
the  answer: 

"I  struck  him,  sir.     He — " 

He  had  me  by  the  throat  as  quickly  as  a  wild 
cat,  and  his  thumb  began  to  bore  in  the  sore 


244  There  She  Blows 

spot  Haveron  had  already  made.  The  next 
moment  Stoddard  and  Morrison,  wrought  upon 
by  their  loyalty  to  me,  did  an  unprecedented 
thing.  They  disregarded  the  sanctity  of  the 
captain's  person,  and  seized  his  arm  to  free  me 
from  his  fell  grip: 

"Let  him  explain,  captain!"  pleaded  Stod 
dard. 

"The  darn  fool  deserved  all  he  got,  and 
more!"  spluttered  Tom,  husky  with  earnest 
ness. 

The  Old  Man  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
in  utter  amazement.  Such  a  happening  as  this 
had  never  come  to  him  in  all  his  years  of  sea 
faring.  His  chief  mate  knocked  out  and  the 
second  and  fourth  officers,  both  of  whom  he 
knew  by  long  association  to  be  loyal  and  up 
right  men,  endeavoring  to  save  the  offender 
from  paying  the  penalty. 

At  this  critical  moment  Haveron  gave  a  faint 
sigh,  and  opened  his  eyes.  The  Old  Man 
glared  at  me  inquiringly  again,  and  loosed  his 
hold  of  my  windpipe,  for  which  I  was  devoutly 
thankful. 

"Bring  some  water,"  he  said  curtly  to  Tom. 

Morrison  handed  him  the  brimming  dish 
from  under  the  scuttle  butt  in  an  eye  wink, 


A  Whaling  Yarn  245 

and  the  captain  dashed  it  sharply  in  the  mate's 
face.  It  brought  him  fully  to  his  senses,  and 
he  rolled  over  and  stiffly  arose  to  his  feet  blink 
ing  at  Captain  Bourne.  Then  his  eyes  caught 
my  face.  The  blood  dashed  back  to  his  cheeks, 
and  he  cried: 

"You  miserable  forecastle  scum,  I'll  kill  you 
for  hitting  me!" 

His  fist  shot  out.  I  was  watching  the  chang 
ing  expression  of  the  captain's  face,  and  re 
ceived  the  vicious  blow  on  the  cheek,  but  it  was 
the  effort  of  a  spent  man  and  did  not  even 
stagger  me.  I  side-stepped  while  Uncle  Zene 
caught  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  said  sharply: 

"I  am  in  charge  of  the  deck,  Mr.  Haveron. 
Control  yourself,  and  explain  this  matter." 

Haveron  gazed  uncertainly  into  the  Old 
Man's  face  which  had  regained  its  usual  ex 
pression  of  cheerful  authority.  After  a  mo 
ment  he  regained  his  self-mastery.  He  turned 
again  toward  me  with  an  expression  of  deadly 
malice,  and  started  in: 

"This  Long  Island  Ned  hangs  out  on  the 
weather  quarter  most  of  the  time  in  the  night 
watches,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  second  and 
fourth  mates  seem  to  like  it.  If  this  goes  on 
you  will  have  him  trying  to  bunk  in  the  after 


246  There  She  Blows 

cabin  with  you,  sir.  I  found  him  at  the  sky 
light  to-night  when  I  chanced  to  come  on  deck, 
and  gave  him  a  shove  to  send  him  amidships 
where  he  belongs.  He  struck  me  before  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  defend  myself,  and  I  think 
he  must  have  had  a  brass  knuckle  on  his  fist 
from  the  hole  he  made  in  my  head." 

This  was  a  pretty  specious  story;  but  now 
he  had  had  time  to  think  Uncle  Zene  was  far  too 
sagacious  to  swallow  it  whole.  He  glanced  at 
Stoddard  and  Morrison  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 
Honest  Joe's  features  were  devoid  of  signifi 
cance  as  those  of  a  marble  statue.  It  was  evi 
dent  the  second  mate  did  not  intend  to  allow 
himself  to  be  drawn  into  the  matter  any  further 
than  he  had  already  gone. 

"I  was  aft,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  do  not  know 
anything  about  it." 

The  captain  turned  to  Tom.  Morrison  was 
mad  all  through  with  a  generous  anger  on  my 
behalf.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  he  had  never 
gotten  along  well  with  Haveron  had  something 
to  do  with  it  also.  So  he  looked  Uncle  Zene 
squarely  in  the  eye,  and  spoke: 

"Ned  was  aft  yarning  with  me,  sir.  He 
often  does,  and  I  don't  see  the  harm.  As  he 
was  going  forward  the  mate  came  up,  and 


A  Whaling  Yarn  247 

pitched  into  him  from  behind  before  Ned  knew 
he  was  there.  He  shoved  Ned  so  he  went 
down  and  cut  his  face.  As  Ned  got  up  they 
locked  horns,  and  Mr.  Haveron  got  it  good 
in  the  ear.  He  went  down,  and  his  head  struck 
the  ring  bolt.  There  weren't  no  knuckles  used, 
sir." 

My  eye  never  left  the  Old  Man's  face,  and  I 
saw  its  tension  relax.  Nevertheless  I  was  bit 
terly  surprised  when  he  said  to  the  fourth  mate : 

"Bring  me  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  the  foot 
of  my  bunk  in  the  after  cabin.  Mr.  Haveron, 
return  to  your  berth.  I'll  stand  the  middle 
watch,  and  you  may  have  all  night  in  to  rest 
up." 

Tom  went  off  with  less  blitheness  than  usual 
to  obey  the  order,  but  the  mate  stood  in  his 
tracks  looking  disappointed  and  rebellious : 

"Go  below,  sir!" 

This  time  Captain  Bourne's  tone  was  as  im 
perative  as  the  snapping  of  a  gun  lock.  Hav 
eron  slowly  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  aft. 
Morrison  was  coming  out  of  the  companion- 
way  as  he  entered  it,  and  the  two  glared  at 
each  other,  but  passed  in  silence. 

"Hold  out  your  hands !"  said  Uncle  Zene  to 
me  as  he  received  the  cuffs.  "On  a  ship  of 


248  There  She  Blows 

mine  no  one  can  strike  my  officer,  and  get  away 
without  punishment." 

The  humiliation  of  being  bound  like  a  com 
mon  felon  was  so  great  that  in  spite  of  my 
genuine  liking  and  respect  for  Uncle  Zene  I 
hesitated  a  breath  before  obeying.  Like  light 
ning  came  the  crack  of  the  whip  again : 

'Tut  out  your  hands!" 

I  mumbled: 

"It  is  not  fair,  Captain  Bourne."  * 

And  then  I  felt  the  cold  iron  encircle  my 
wrists.  The  touch  seemed  to  set  my  heart  on 
fire,  but  I  never  dreamed  of  resisting  the  look 
in  his  steady  gray  eyes: 

"I'll  never  forgive  you  for  doing  this  to  me," 
I  said  bitterly  as  he  snapped  the  catches. 

"I'll  have  to  scrape  along  somehow  even  if 
you  don't,  Ned,"  he  replied  cheerfully. 

As  I  could  not  see  that  my  presence  was 
needed  any  longer  on  deck,  I  retired  to  my  bunk 
in  the  steerage  and  chewed  the  bitter  cud  in 
a  wounded  and  indignant  frame  of  mind.  The 
injury  was  too  recent,  and  I  was  too  sore  to 
see  the  affair  from  the  Old  Man's  viewpoint. 
If  I  had  been  able  to,  I  might  have  recognized 
that  he  could  not  range  himself  against  his  chief 
mate,  and  expect  to  maintain  discipline  on 


A  Whaling  ,Yarn  249 

board  the  Avola.  I  could  only  see  the  injus 
tice  of  administering  humiliating  punishment 
to  me  when  I  was  not  to  blame,  and  had  simply 
defended  myself  against  unwarranted  attack. 

I  sat  on  my  donkey,  and  tried  to  think  the 
matter  out  fairly,  but  the  more  I  turned  it  over 
in  my  mind  the  madder  I  got.  I  wound  up 
finally  by  coming  to  the  most  foolish  conclusion 
I  could  by  any  possibility  arrive  at.  I  resolved 
to  desert  from  the  Avola  in  Middle  Harbor 
where,  barring  accidents,  we  would  arrive  the 
next  day. 

Some  time  before,  Jonas  who  had  been  there, 
told  me  that  there  was  a  resident  missionary 
stationed  on  Ascension,  the  island  on  which 
Middle  Harbor  was  located.  Also  he  said  a 
supply  schooner  called  the  Morning  Star  was 
maintained  by  the  Methodist  Mission  society, 
and  made  the  round  of  the  different  missionary 
stations  in  the  south  seas  annually  to  look  after 
the  needs  of  the  teachers  stationed  in  these  wil 
dernesses.  I  could  either  ship  on,  or  stow 
away  in  this  craft,  and  go  in  her  to  Honolulu, 
her  home  port. 

At  this  point  I  recalled  that  the  money  due 
me  on  my  lay  must  be  nearly  a  thousand  dol 
lars.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  lose  this  important 


250  There  She  Blows 

sum,  but  I  reflected  that  perhaps  I  could  collect 
it  by  legal  process  from  the  owners  of  the  ship ; 
for  was  I  not  driven  to  desert  by  injustice  and 
violent  oppression  ? 

I  had  been  fiddling  with  my  handcuffs  as  I 
pondered  over  these  things,  and  my  wrists  be 
ing  unusually  large  and  bony,  and  my  hands 
comparatively  small,  I  discovered  that  with  the 
loss  of  a  little  cuticle  I  could  slip  off  the  iron 
rings.  This  heartened  me  considerably,  and 
I  removed  them.  On  second  thought  I  put 
them  on  again  to  avoid  detection.  The  pro 
cess  proved  so  painful  I  made  up  my  mind  not 
to  disturb  them  again  until  they  came  off  for 
good  and  all. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  star 
board  watch  came  on  duty  again  Tom  Morrison 
slipped  down  into  the  steerage.  I  was  mighty 
glad  to  see  him,  but  I  daresay  I  was  not  very 
demonstrative,  for  I  had  decided  not  to  disclose 
my  plans,  and  to  act  on  my  determination  to 
desert  the  ship  as  soon  as  I  found  an  oppor 
tunity.  The  fourth  mate  was  full  of  sympathy 
though  he  did  not  seem  to  understand  why  I 
so  bitterly  resented  being  ironed. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "they  put  me  in  a  cell  every 
time  they  get  a  chance  at  me  when  I  am  on 


A  Whaling  Yarn  251 

shore,  and  generally  they  have  to  put  the  cuffs 
on  before  they  are  able  to  get  me  there.  You 
needn't  take  it  so,  Ned.  The  Old  Man  just  had 
to  do  it!  I'd  let  'em  iron  me  down  to  a  ring 
bolt  and  keep  me  there  all  day  for  one  chance 
to  land  on  Haveron's  mug  as  hard  as  you  did. 
That  was  a  dandy  swing  of  yours!" 

Altogether  the  warm-hearted  fellow  cheered 
me  up,  but  I  clung  to  my  determination  to  leave 
the  ship.  He  told  me  that  we  would  get  into 
the  Harbor  by  noon  if  the  wind  held,  and  then 
reluctantly  left  me  alone. 

The  little  steward  brought  my  breakfast  and 
told  me  Mr.  Haveron  was  on  deck  as  lively  as 
a  cricket,  although  his  head  was  bandaged  and 
his  jaw  so  swollen  he  could  scarcely  talk.  This 
was  some  consolation,  and  I  drank  my  coffee 
with  relish. 

Just  before  eight  bells  I  heard  the  shrill  hail 
of  "Land  Ho"  come  down  from  the  masthead, 
and  not  long  after  dinner  there  was  a  bustle 
and  commotion  overhead.  I  knew  we  were 
entering  the  harbor,  and  preparing  to  come  to 
an  anchor.  The  rattle  of  the  cable  and  plunge 
of  the  mudhook  soon  followed,  and  the  steward 
came  to  tell  me  we  had  arrived  in  port. 

Shortly  Stoddard  made  his  appearance  with  a 


252  There  She  Blows 

friendly  grin  on  his  big  face  and  announced 
that  the  captain  said  I  could  come  on  deck  if  I 
wished,  and  that  the  irons  would  be  taken  off 
the  next  morning.  I  was  glad  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  get  a  glimpse  around  so  as  to  get 
my  bearings  in  the  daylight,  but  I  thought  to 
myself : 

"The  irons  will  come  off  before  that,  and 
there'll  be  no  to-morrow  morning  for  me  on 
the  Avola." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

CAYAL  JOE  had  the  anchor  watch  from 
midnight  until  morning.  I  waited  until 
he  had  struck  the  bell  four  times  for  two 
o'clock,  and  when  I  stole  on  deck  ten  minutes 
after  he  was  nodding  comfortably  on  the  car 
penter's  bench  aft  of  the  try-works.  I  crept 
cautiously  over  the  head  of  the  ship  and  grasp 
ing  the  cable,  noiselessly  lowered  myself  to  the 
surface  of  the  water.  My  dunnage  consisted 
of  a  pair  of  dungaree  trousers  and  a  hickory 
shirt,  fastened  on  my  shoulders  with  a  piece  of 
spun  yarn. 

It  was  dim  starlight,  and  the  bay  was  warm 
as  new  milk.  I  struck  out  in  the  direction  of 
the  shore  with  confidence  and  swam  leisurely 
along  until,  on  looking  around,  I  found  I  could 
no  longer  see  the  hull  or  even  the  spars  of  the 
Avola.  Then  the  situation  suddenly  became 
complicated  and  serious. 

The  bay  is  a  large  one,  five  or  six  miles  long 
by  two  or  three  broad,  and  we  had  anchored 

253 


254  There  She  Blows 

in  the  widest  part  on  account  of  the  holding 
ground  being  reputed  better  there.  From  the 
ship  to  the  shore  on  the  line  I  had  intended  to 
take  was  not  more  than  a  mile;  but  now  I 
vividly  realized  I  had  nothing  to  guide  me  to 
the  land,  and  that  in  the  darkness  I  might 
circle  around  for  hours  until  exhausted,  or  even 
go  out  to  sea  through  the  passage  we  had 
entered. 

The  thought  terrified  me  and  very  naturally 
I  began  to  forge  ahead  faster,  and  tire  myself. 
In  a  few  moments,  however,  I  regained  my 
presence  of  mind.  I  turned  on  my  back  and 
forced  myself  to  consider  the  situation  calmly. 
My  thoughts  ran  something  as  follows : 

"I  am  in  a  bad  box,  and  had  better  have  re 
mained  on  board  the  Avola,  but  I  cannot  go 
back  for  it  will  be  easier  to  find  the  shore  of 
Middle  Harbor  than  the  ship.  I  know  nothing 
of  the  tides  and  currents,  and  they  may  be 
sweeping  me  to  sea  at  the  present  moment. 
Ha!!!  The  land  breeze!" 

Sure  enough,  that  was  my  infallible  guide. 
I  had  heard  that  it  came  up  with  the  sinking 
sun,  and  blew  freshly  all  night.  I  raised  my 
body  as  high  out  of  the  water  as  possible,  and 
it  blew  coolly  on  my  right  cheek.  I  set  my  face 


A  Whaling  Yarn  255 

to  it,  and  lunged  ahead  with  renewed  assur 
ance. 

Then  came  doubt;  it  might  change!  Well, 
the  hazard  must  be  taken.  Then  something 
splashed  in  the  water  close  at  hand.  My  heart 
leaped  to  my  throat,  and  paralysis  chained  my 
limbs.  A  shark?  My  God!  But  the  terror 
passed,  and  the  sound  did  not  recur. 

However,  if  a  man  wants  to  realize  how 
helpless  and  timid  he  is  when  all  the  props  of 
Civilization  are  removed,  and  he  is  brought 
naked  close  to  the  inexorable  face  of  Nature 
solely  dependent  on  himself,  I  advise  him 
to  try  a  similar  experience  to  mine  that 
night. 

It  seemed  a  lifetime,  but  I  was  probably  no 
more  than  a  half  hour  in  the  water.  Where 
I  at  last  struck  the  shore  I  found  myself  on 
a  ragged  coral  reef,  all  sharp  points  and  saw 
edges.  My  feet  were  toughened  by  going  bare 
footed  on  the  ship,  but  I  speedily  found  I  had 
made  a  grave  error  in  not  bringing  a  pair  of 
shoes.  Limping  was  my  best  gait,  but  I  made 
the  best  speed  I  could  force  out  of  myself ;  for 
it  seemed  to  me  expedient  to  be  out  of  sight 
of  the  Avola  by  daylight.  I  knew  that  the 
shore  would  be  searched  by  keen  eyes  the  min- 


256  There  She  Blows 

ute  my  absence  from  the  berth  in  the  steerage 
was  discovered. 

At  last,  with  the  abruptness  peculiar  to  these 
latitudes,  the  sun  leaped  above  the  horizon. 
My  good  fortune  had  brought  me  into  a  deep, 
winding  cove  leading  inland  from  the  bay.  It 
was  densely  wooded  to  within  a  hundred  feet 
of  the  coral  reef,  and  effectually  screened  me 
from  the  observation  of  any  one  on  the  Avola. 

While  I  was  satisfying  myself  that  I  was 
safe  so  far  as  the  ship  was  concerned  I  heard 
a  call  from  the  upper  end  of  the  cove,  and  a 
native  came  out  on  the  shore  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  and  made  signals  to  me  with  his 
hand  which  I  did  not  comprehend,  but  saw  were 
friendly.  I  awaited  him,  and  as  he  came  closer 
recognized  him  as  a  man  who  had  been  on 
board  the  day  before  when  I  had  come  on 
deck  by  the  captain's  permission.  In  fact  he 
had  been  consulted  by  the  Old  Man  as  to  where 
to  let  go  the  anchor.  He  spoke  a  little  Eng 
lish,  as  many  Ponapians  did,  and  eked  out  his 
meaning  with  wonderfully  significant  gestures. 

Ono,  as  he  called  himself,  at  once  grasped  the 
idea  that  I  was  a  runaway  from  the  whaleship, 
and  I  gathered  from  him  that  desertions  from 
visiting  ships  had  occurred  before  within  his 


A  Whaling  Yarn  257 

experience.  At  all  events  he  was  very  friendly, 
and  displayed  a  disposition  to  be  helpful.  He 
said  he  lived  only  a  short  distance  away,  and 
invited  me  cordially  to  come  with  him.  I 
gladly  accepted  what  I  interpreted  to  be  an 
offer  of  hospitality,  and  followed  him  half  a 
mile  inland  to  a  grove  where  by  a  stream  of 
water  his  habitation  stood.  It  was  a  large  hut 
with  grass-thatched  roof,  and  walls  and  parti 
tions  made  of  wattled  screens  of  rattan  or  split 
bamboo.  This  gave  free  admission  to  the  air, 
and  protected  the  interior  from  the  gaze  of 
rude  curiosity.  Unpretending  as  it  was,  a 
dwelling  more  suited  to  the  requirements  of 
the  climate  could  not  have  been  devised. 

Another  man  and  two  women  in  the  house 
were  greatly  surprised  to  see  me  appear  with 
Ono,  but  he  explained  to  them  in  the  Kanaka 
tongue,  and  it  wound  up  by  all  of  them  em 
bracing  me  with  affectionate  earnestness. 
This  was  not  disagreeable,  for  the  women  were 
good  to  look  upon. 

After  an  excellent  breakfast  of  baked  pig 
and  fruit,  for  which  my  swim  and  walk  had 
given  me  a  famous  appetite,  Ono  and  I  held 
a  consultation.  I  had  entire  confidence  in  him 
by  this  time,  and  we  had  become  so  well  ac- 


258  There  She  Blows 

quainted  that  by  the  aid  of  the  English  he 
knew,  the  Kanaka  I  had  picked  up  aboard  ship, 
and  his  wonderfully  expressive  sign  language 
we  were  able  to  understand  each  other  well. 

It  appeared  Ono  was  a  progressive  Ponapian. 
He  knew  the  functions  of  pilots,  and  wished  to 
qualify  himself  to  act  as  one  to  the  occasional 
vessels  that  visited  the  island.  He  was  ac 
quainted  with  the  soundings,  tides,  currents, 
and  rocks  of  the  harbor,  but  lacked  technical 
knowledge  in  the  management  of  large  craft. 
This  he  aimed  to  get  through  me,  thus  enabling 
him  to  extend  his  sphere  of  usefulness,  and 
demand  full  pilotage  fees  from  the  incoming 
skippers. 

The  upshot  of  the  conference  was  that  he 
gladly  agreed  to  assist  me  conceal  myself  until 
the  Avola  left  Middle  Harbor,  and  I  on  my 
side  contracted  to  return  the  obligation  by 
coaching  him  to  a  point  in  practical  seamanship 
which  would  make  him  capable  of  conning  a 
ship  into  the  bay  and  bringing  her  to  an  anchor 
in  her  berth. 

The  arrangement  suited  me  famously,  and 
we  had  no  trouble  in  a  speedy  agreement.  He 
thought  it  wise,  in  view  of  the  probability  of 
Captain  Bourne  making  a  search  for  me  ashore, 


A  Whaling  Yarn  259 

to  send  me  to  a  village  some  fifteen  miles  in 
the  interior  of  the  island,  where  he  had  a 
brother  living.  He  assured  me  of  the  best  of 
treatment  while  I  remained  away,  and  immu 
nity  from  the  danger  of  recapture.  On  the  de 
parture  of  the  Avola  I  was  to  return  to  his 
home,  and  live  with  him  until  I  had  taught 
him  the  elements  of  seamanship. 

I  thought  it  wise  to  start  at  once  on  our 
journey,  for  it  was  possible  that  a  boat's  crew 
looking  for  me  might  turn  up  at  any  moment. 
My  feet  were  very  sore  but  one  of  the  women 
anointed  them  with  palm  oil,  while  the  other 
manufactured  a  pair  of  rude  sandals  for  me 
out  of  some  thick,  tough  green  leaves  she 
plucked  from  a  neighboring  tree.  These  min 
istrations  refreshed  and  comforted  me,  and  I 
took  the  trail  with  my  head  up,  and  in  the  best 
of  spirits. 

Our  path  led  through  dense  thickets  and 
tropical  forest,  and  towards  the  end  we  as 
cended  a  sharp  elevation  that  brought  us  out 
on  top  of  a  mountain  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred 
feet  in  height.  From  the  crest  of  this  the 
prospect  broadened,  and  beneath  lay  as  beau 
tiful  a  valley  as  that  made  immortal  as  the 
abode  of  Rasselas.  Thickets  of  orange  trees, 


260  There  She  Blows 

the  broad-leaved  banana,  and  the  mango  with 
its  burnished  foliage  and  grapelike  clusters  of 
green  fruit,  dotted  its  tranquil  surface.  The 
central  point  of  the  picture  was  a  tiny  native 
village  over  on  the  farther  side  of  this  Happy 
Valley.  From  our  stand  it  resembled  a  group 
of  toy  houses  except  that  it  had  not  that  stiff 
regularity  in  which  toy  artists  seem  to  revel. 
Close  to  it,  from  the  left,  came  bounding  down 
the  steep  side  of  the  cliff  a  lovely  cataract,  dash 
ing  and  splintering  its  silvery  column  of  water 
when  it  struck  the  base,  into  a  million  particles 
of  spray  which  glittered  and  shone  in  the  air 
like  a  diamond  shower. 

This  was  in  front.  As  we  looked  back  over 
the  miles  we  had  come,  we  could  see  the  fierce 
tropical  sunshine  lying  on  the  violet  and  gold 
bosom  of  the  broad  Pacific  Ocean.  Sentiment 
does  not  cut  much  of  a  figure  in  my  make-up, 
but  I  certainly  thought  this  a  cut  above  life 
on  the  Avola. 

And  then  Ono  led  me  down  to  the  village, 
and  introduced  me  to  his  brother  Tarnki.  He 
was  a  pleasant  looking  savage,  but  had  abso 
lutely  no  English  at  his  command.  However, 
he  soon  understood  the  situation,  and  what  he 
lacked  in  language  he  made  up  in  good  will. 


A  Whaling  Yarn  261 

Ono  returned  at  once  to  the  sea  shore  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  ship,  and  throw  possible  pur 
suers  off  the  scent,  and  I  settled  down  to  life 
in  this  home  in  the  wilderness. 

If  I  should  survive  to  the  age  of  the  patri 
archs  of  the  Old  Testament,  I  can  never  forget 
the  ten  days  I  spent  in  this  Ponape  village. 
Tarnki  was  an  elderly  man,  and  had  a  daughter 
who  contributed  greatly  to  the  attractions  of 
the  sojourn.  She  was  a  brown-skinned  maiden 
of  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  with  a  slim  figure 
as  perfect  in  proportion  as  a  Grecian  statue, 
and  twinkling  hands  and  feet  of  surpassing 
delicacy  of  mould.  Her  hair  hung  in  wavy 
ringlets  on  her  shoulders,  and  her  glorious  eyes 
were  at  one  moment  full  of  diabolical  mischief, 
and  the  next  tender  as  a  fawn's. 

To  be  sure  our  conversation  was  limited  at 
the  beginning  because  we  neither  could  com 
prehend  a  word  the  other  said,  but  the  progress 
we  made  in  the  interchange  of  thought  was 
truly  astounding.  Before  three  days  had 
passed  I  had  told  her  all  my  troubles,  and  she 
understood  and  bestowed  on  me  a  vivid  sym 
pathy  that  made  me  forget  them.  We  spent 
most  of  our  hours  in  alternately  teaching  each 
other  Kanaka  and  English  idioms.  By  the  end 


262  There  She  Blows 

of  the  week  she  could  conjugate  the  verb  To 
Love  in  all  its  moods  and  tenses  as  perfectly, 
and  as  fervently  as  I  could  myself. 

Tarnki  gazed  serenely  on  this  idyl,  and 
seemed  to  approve.  Lona — that  was  her  be 
witching  name — and  I  were  soul  mates,  and  I 
contentedly  laid  my  plans  to  pass  the  rest  of 
my  existence  in  the  Happy  Valley.  We  even 
selected  the  spot  where  we  should  build  our 
habitation.  I  recall  there  was  a  full  moon  on 
the  night  when  we  selected  the  site,  and  Lona 
lay  in  my  arms  with  her  head  on  my  breast. 
As  she  lifted  those  wide  dark  eyes  to  mine,  I 
forgot  all  civilization  and  even  the  old  father 
and  mother  awaiting  my  return  in  America. 

I  have  related  this  episode  of  my  early  life 
with  perfect  frankness,  and  as  I  look  back  upon 
it  I  can  only  acknowledge  that  I  must  have 
been  temporarily  insane  at  that  period.  Of 
course  the  girl  was  beautiful  and  I  was  fresh 
from  a  long  and  monotonous  voyage,  and  ting 
ling  with  what  I  held  to  be  the  injustice  with 
which  the  captain  had  treated  me  in  the  affair 
with  Mr.  Haveron;  but  after  all  that  was  no 
excuse  for  my  making  such  a  sap-headed  ass  of 
myself  as  I  proposed  to. 

Luckily  I  was  saved  from  myself  by  an  en- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  263 

tirely  unexpected  turn  in  the  course  of  events. 
On  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day  after  I  left 
the  ship  a  man  whom  I  did  not  know  arrived 
from  the  coast  with  a  message  from  Ono  to 
Tarnki.  It  seemed  both  important  and  excit 
ing,  for  Tarnki  at  once  summoned  Lona  and  me 
from  our  philandering  to  a  conference.  After 
a  deal  of  trouble,  with  the  aid  of  Lona  they 
managed  to  make  me  understand  that  the 
Avola  had  left  port,  but  seemed  to  be  lying 
off  shore.  Ono  had  heard  that  Captain  Bourne 
had  sent  for  the  chief  of  a  tribe  living  on  the 
other  side  of  the  harbor,  with  whom  Tarnki's 
brother  was  not  on  friendly  terms,  and  offered 
him  the  unheard-of  bribe  of  a  whole  box  of 
plug  tobacco  if  he  would  send  out  his  young 
men  to  find  and  capture  the  runaway  sailor, 
Long  Island  Ned,  and  deliver  him  to  the  ship. 
Ono  felt  certain  the  search  was  already  under 
way,  for  a  number  of  the  most  enterprising 
and  active  natives  were  absent  from  the  rival 
village.  Consequently  he  was  very  much  con 
cerned  for  my  safety,  and  besought  Tarnki  to 
exercise  the  utmost  vigilance  to  safeguard  me 
from  recapture.  I  am  free  to  admit  the  news 
worried  my  prospective  father-in-law  more 
than  it  did  Lona  and  me.  In  the  first  place 


264  There  She  Blows 

I  had  considerable  confidence  in  my  own 
prowess,  and  had  no  idea  that  even  half  a  dozen 
of  the  natives  would  have  any  show  with  me 
if  it  came  to  a  scrap,  and  secondly  I  doubted 
the  Old  Man's  detaining  the  Avola  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  getting  hold  of  me  again. 

I  was  wrong,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I 
found  it  out.  The  very  next  morning  I  went 
to  a  pool  in  the  stream  a  quarter  mile  distant 
from  the  hut  to  take  my  usual  morning  bath. 
Lona  was  to  meet  me  after  my  plunge,  and  we 
planned  to  return  by  a  roundabout  trail  that 
would  afford  a  pleasant  stroll. 

After  I  came  out  of  the  water  I  walked  down 
the  trail  to  where  the  other  crossed  it  at  right 
angles,  and  waved  my  hand  gaily  to  my  brown 
sweetheart  who  was  awaiting  me  at  the  point 
of  intersection.  It  was  the  last  time  I  made 
any  gay  gestures  for  several  days. 

When  I  was  about  twenty  yards  from  where 
Lona  stood  some  one  leaped  upon  my  back, 
and  at  the  same  instant  passed  a  sinewy  arm 
slippery  with  cocoanut  oil  around  my  neck. 
Before  I  had  time  to  realize  the  situation  sev 
eral  natives  slipped  out  of  the  thicket  lining 
the  path,  and  had  me  around  the  waist  and  by 
the  ankles.  I  gave  one  a  tremendous  kick  in 


A  Whaling  Yarn  265 

the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  although  I  nearly 
broke  my  unprotected  big  toe  in  the  effort,  I 
was  overjoyed  to  see  him  fall  back  roaring  with 
pain.  I  managed  to  strike  one  of  the  others  in 
the  mouth  and  knock  some  of  his  white  teeth 
down  his  throat,  and  then  I  went  down  with 
the  whole  bunch  on  top  of  me. 

Of  course  I  fought  and  struggled  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  but  those  despised  natives  were 
astoundingly  strong,  and  every  one  seemed  to 
be  freshly  smeared  with  oil,  and  their  carcases 
were  as  greasy  as  the  pigs  boys  try  to  catch 
in  Irish  fairs.  I  could  not  get  hold  of  them, 
and  they  hugged  me  so  closely  that  my  fists 
were  useless.  The  upshot  was  that  in  two 
minutes  they  had  me  tied  fast,  hand  and  foot, 
so  tight  that  the  cocoa  husk  twine  cut  into  my 
hide  until  it  brought  the  blood. 

As  they  raised  me  panting  and  breathless  to 
my  feet  I  saw  Lona  with  the  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks,  and  wringing  her  tiny  hands 
helplessly.  When  she  met  my  gaze  she  gave 
a  scream  that  woke  the  echoes  of  the  hills,  and 
sped  down  the  trail  to  the  village  swiftly  as  an 
arrow  in  its  flight.  That  was  the  last  time  I 
ever  saw  the  dear  girl. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

THOSE  savages  certainly  were  experts  in 
*  the  line  of  business  they  had  adopted. 
First  they  loosened  the  cords  which  bound  my 
ankles  until  I  had  sufficient  liberty  to  take  a 
free  stride.  Then  they  put  two  arrangements 
I  may  call  halters,  for  lack  of  a  better  name, 
around  my  neck.  One  of  them  took  an  end 
and  started  toward  Middle  Harbor;  another 
took  the  second  and  trailed  on  behind.  They 
had  me!  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact.  If 
I  bolted  ahead,  the  one  behind  yanked  me  up. 
And  if  I  hung  back  the  husky  devil  in  front 
nearly  jerked  my  head  off.  If  I  tried  it  side- 
wise,  they  both  pulled  at  once  and  it  hurt  sorely. 
It  was  a  pretty  bitter  pill  to  swallow,  but  I 
made  up  my  mind  I  had  better  accept  the  situa 
tion  with  the  best  grace  possible.  So  I  smiled 
on  my  captors,  and  conversed  with  them  to  the 
best  of  my  ability.  This  change  in  my  de 
meanor  pleased  them,  and  as  soon  as  they  be 
came  convinced  that  I  would  give  them  no  more 

266 


A  Whaling  Yarn  267 

trouble  they  took  the  lashings  off  my  ankles, 
and  the  halters  from  my  neck,  with  the  result 
of  greatly  increasing  my  comfort. 

There  was  evidently  no  chance  of  escape,  and 
I  resigned  myself  to  my  fate.  What  chiefly 
troubled  me  was  the  consideration  of  what 
would  happen  when  I  got  on  board  the  Avola 
again.  It  was  not  so  much  the  idea  of  the 
punishment  I  might  receive  for  deserting  the 
ship.  I  could  stand  that,  but  I  had  a  notion 
that  Stoddard  and  Morrison  would  withdraw 
their  friendship  because  I  had  been  so  mad  as  to 
run  away.  Of  course  I  anticipated  being 
broken  from  my  rank  as  boatsteerer,  and  sent 
back  to  the  forecastle.  This,  I  reflected,  would 
please  Haveron  and  give  him  a  chance  to  abuse 
me  all  he  wished.  In  any  case,  I  determined 
the  first  mate  should  not  get  off  so  easily  the 
next  time  he  tackled  me. 

Ono  had  told  me  the  Happy  Valley  was 
fifteen  miles  from  the  Harbor,  but  it  seemed 
double  that  distance  on  the  return  journey.  I 
had  adopted  the  native  dress,  and  had  no  cov 
ering  on  my  shoulders  when  I  was  captured. 
The  sun  burned  them  painfully  and  they  were 
one  huge  blister  at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  hours. 
Everything  comes  to  an  end,  however,  and 


268  There  She  Blows 

about  one  o'clock  we  arrived  at  the  point  of  the 
headland  by  the  entrance  to  the  bay. 

There  \vas  the  Avola,  sure  enough,  in  the 
offing  making  short  stretches  under  easy  can 
vas.  It  was  apparent  to  me  at  a  glance  that 
the  captain  was  awaiting  a  signal  from  the 
shore.  The  leader  of  the  band  who  had  me 
in  charge  at  once  set  about  making  a  fire  on 
the  crest  of  the  little  promontory,  and  when 
he  had  the  flames  blazing  merrily  he  dumped 
a  quantity  of  wet  leaves  on  them.  There  was 
little  wind,  and  a  tall  column  of  dense  smoke 
arose  in  the  air. 

The  next  instant  I  could  see  the  bow  of  the 
Avola  veer  towards  the  shore,  and  her  courses 
and  to'gallant  sails  were  sheeted  home  as  she 
swept  in  towards  the  headland.  She  was  not 
more  than  three  miles  off,  and  when  she  had 
covered  half  the  distance  they  let  her  nose  come 
up  in  the  wind  and  laid  her  aback.  Then  a 
boat  was  lowered,  and  started  for  the  shore. 

As  it  neared  the  land  I  could  see  that  the 
Old  Man  sat  in  the  stern  sheets,  and  Tom  Mor 
rison  was  pulling  the  harpooneer  oar.  A  wave 
of  something  that  was  almost  contrition  and 
tenderness  swept  over  me  as  I  recognized  their 
rugged,  sea  tanned  faces,  and  of  a  sudden  I 


A  Whaling  Yarn  269 

knew  that  these  brave  and  loyal  men  were  the 
kind  I  wanted  to  pass  my  life  among,  and  that 
the  last  week  of  my  life  had  been  only  a  crazy 
dream. 

Then  the  boat  was  run  up  on  the  beach,  and 
Uncle  Zene  waded  out,  and  came  directly  to 
where  I  was  standing  with  my  wrists  bound. 
He  grabbed  a  sheath  knife  from  Tom's  belt — 
the  fourth  mate  alongside  him — and  said  as  he 
severed  the  cords: 

"Ned,  my  boy,  I'm  glad  I've  got  you  again !" 

"So  am  I,  captain,"  I  answered  in  a  husky 
voice. 

"Ha!  Well,  you're  not  such  a  cussed  fool 
after  all !"  he  exclaimed,  but  his  tone  was  almost 
affectionate. 

Tom  could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  He 
caught  my  limp  hand  in  his  great  fist,  and 
shouted : 

"I  ought  to  punch  your  head,  you  Long 
Island  jackass,  but  I'll  wait  till  I  git  you  on 
board !  Did  you  think  the  Old  Man  was  going 
to  let  you  beach-comb  all  your  life  on  this 
blasted  island,  and  never  see  New  Bedford  no 
more?" 

This  nearly  broke  me  down,  and  I  could  only 
blink  at  them  without  a  word  to  say  for  myself. 


270  There  She  Blows 

Then  Uncle  Zene  took  charge  of  matters 
again : 

"Mr.  Morrison,"  he  said  in  his  quarter  deck 
manner,  "let  the  crew  of  the  boat  have  an  hour's 
liberty,  but  keep  them  in  hail.  Ned  and  me  are 
going  to  have  a  chat." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  clump  of  cocoa  palms, 
and  sat  down  on  a  projecting  root.  I  followed 
in  silence,  and  stood  before  him  heartily  peni 
tent  and  ashamed  of  myself: 

"Now,  Ned,"  he  began,  "we're  ashore,  and 
we'll  play  you're  free  and  just  as  good  a  man 
as  I  am.  On  board  ship,  the  captain  has  got 
to  be  the  captain,  and  sometimes  he  does  things 
he  wouldn't  under  other  circumstances.  But 
he  can't  stop  to  explain  his  actions,  or  avoid 
hurting  people's  feelings.  Once  in  a  while  a 
lunkhead  comes  along  that  can't  understand 
this,  and  he  is  liable  to  suffer  some,  for  dis 
cipline  must  be  maintained  aboard  for  the  good 
and  the  safety  of  the  whole  ship's  company. 
What's  your  idea  about  it?" 

"I  was  dead  wrong,  captain,"  I  mumbled. 
"Put  the  irons  on  again!  I'll  wear  them  as 
long  as  you  say  so  without  a  murmur." 

"I  wish  I  could  get  out  of  it,  Ned,"  he  re 
marked  thoughtfully.  "But  I  reckon  I'll  have 


A  Whaling  Yarn  271 

to  do  that  very  thing.  I  ain't  going  to  break 
you.  Mr.  Stoddard  won't  let  me!  He  says 
he  won't  lower  if  I  do." 

The  dear  old  boy  grinned  whimsically  as  he 
told  this  last,  and  then  added: 

"The  captain's  job  ain't  so  easy — some 
times  !" 

I  did  not  speak.  I  couldn't,  and  after  a 
pause  he  resumed: 

"One  word  about  Mr.  Haveron.  He  has  his 
faults  as  a  man.  We  all  have,  but  he's  a  good 
officer.  You  must  not  come  into  collision  with 
him  while  this  voyage  lasts.  If  you  do,  you'll 
get  the  worst  end  because  I  shall  be  behind 
him.  Chew  that,  Ned,  and  swallow  it  down- 
even  if  it  does  taste  nasty." 

It  gagged  me  a  bit,  I  am  free  to  confess,  in 
spite  of  my  unusual  humility  of  mind.  But  by 
this  time  I  had  about  come  to  the  point  when 
I  could  have  laid  my  neck  on  the  block  if  the 
Old  Man  had  said  so,  and  I  finally  raised  my 
head,  and  replied: 

"All  right,  sir,  I've  got  it  down.  You  shall 
not  have  any  reason  to  complain  of  me." 

His  face  softened,  and  I  saw  that  he  was 
satisfied. 

"Well,  then,  that's  settled,"  he  concluded, 


272  There  She  Blows 

taking  out  his  pipe  and  plug  of  tobacco.  "Got 
any  terbacker  left?" 

"I've  been  smoking  this  Kanaka  stuff  three 
days,"  I  answered,  greedily  taking  the  extended 
plug. 

"I  am  going  to  put  the  bracelets  on  you  as 
soon  as  we  go  down  to  the  boat,  and  you  will 
have  to  stand  it  three  days.  Now  go  and  see 
Morrison  and  Jonas." 

This  was  his  last  word,  and  was  accom 
panied  with  an  amicable  grin.  I  went  down 
the  trail  after  the  others  with  my  heart  singing 
with  joy.  After  all,  it  was  no  humiliation  to 
wear  handcuffs  for  a  man  like  Uncle  Zene. 
And  I  had  not  the  remotest  notion  that  he  was 
going  to  let  me  be  abused  by  the  chief  mate.  To 
think  of  staunch  old  Joe  Stoddard  standing  up 
for  me  like  that !  When  I  met  Tom,  who  was 
waiting  the  conclusion  of  our  talk  a  couple  of 
ship  lengths  away,  he  caught  me  in  a  hug  a 
polar  bear  would  have  envied,  and  growled : 

"Well,  you  blasted  son  of  a  sea  cook,  I'm 
gladder  to  have  you  back  than  if  we  had  an 
other  thousand  barrels  of  oil  under  the 
hatches." 

In  all  this  time  I  had  not  once  remembered 
forlorn  Lona.  Now  when  Tom  and  Jonas  de- 


A  Whaling  Yarn  273 

manded  an  account  of  my  adventure  since  I  had 
been  away  from  the  Avola,  she  came  to  my 
mind  for  the  first  time.  I  had  the  sense  not 
to  tell  my  shipmates  of  what  a  sentimental  idiot 
I  had  been.  They  possibly  would  not  have 
comprehended  my  feelings  in  the  matter,  and 
much  less  sympathized  with  them.  But  they 
were  vividly  interested  in  my  account  of  the 
circumstances  of  my  capture  by  the  natives,  and 
were  so  wrought  up  by  the  indignity  of  the 
tying  and  haltering  that  I  had  some  difficulty 
in  preventing  them  from  pitching  into  the  sav 
ages  then  and  there,  and  showing  them  the 
error  of  their  ways. 

It  proved  to  be  a  fact  that  a  box  of  tobacco 
had  been  put  up  as  the  reward  for  my  recap 
ture,  and  I  saw  it  formally  delivered  over  to 
the  chief  before  we  left.  It  came  out  of  the 
captain's  private  stores,  and  I  paid  him  for  it 
later  on.  He  was  complimentary  enough  to 
tell  me  it  was  more  than  he  would  give  up  for 
most  green  hands,  but  he  reckoned,  on  the 
whole,  I  was  worth  the  price.  It  was  grati 
fying  to  me  to  know  exactly  how  much  I  was 
valued  at. 

Before  the  hands  were  summoned  to  shove 
the  boat  into  the  water,  the  Old  Man  produced 


274  There  She  Blows 

a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket.  I  held 
out  my  wrists  with  very  different  feelings  from 
those  I  endured  the  first  time  he  had  put  them 
on  me,  and  actually  smiled  genially  into  his 
face  as  he  clicked  them  fast.  I  knew  he  was 
grieved  at  the  necessity,  and  I  am  sure  he  felt 
ashamed  in  the  depths  of  his  honest  heart. 

The  short  pull  to  the  ship  was  soon  over,  and 
as  we  came  alongside  the  first  mate  stood  at 
the  rail  to  receive  us.  Uncle  Zene  observed 
affably  as  he  stepped  aboard: 

"I've  got  him,  sir." 

Mr.  Haveron  gazed  into  my  eyes  with  a  face 
hard  as  marble  when  I  followed,  and  sourly 
replied : 

"He  was  just  as  well  ashore!" 

I  never  turned  a  hair  though  I  saw  it  was 
evidently  to  be  war  to  the  knife  on  his  part. 
The  Old  Man  looked  at  him  rather  closely,  but 
said  nothing  as  he  went  below.  Shortly  the 
steward  came  up,  and  spoke  to  the  mate.  Al 
though  it  was  his  watch  on  deck  the  latter  went 
down  the  companion-steps.  In  ten  minutes  he 
returned  looking  red  in  the  face  and  discom 
posed.  I  observed  all  this  from  the  carpenter's 
bench  where  I  was  standing,  and  divined  that 
Uncle  Zene  had  been  having  a  heart  to  heart 


A  Whaling  Yarn  275 

talk  with  him  in  the  after  cabin.  I  never  heard 
the  substance  of  their  conversation,  but  for  the 
whole  of  the  period  I  remained  on  the  Avola 
the  chief  mate  never  spoke  to  me  again  except 
to  give  me  a  needful  order.  Whatever  had 
been  the  Old  Man's  argument  in  my  behalf,  it 
had  been  adequate. 

Stoddard  told  me  that  night  the  captain  had 
decided  to  leave  the  Carolines,  and  put  in  to 
Singapore  to  discharge  our  oil  and  refit  for 
another  year  of  sperm  whaling. 

The  next  morning  the  captain  called  the  crew 
aft  and  lined  them  up  on  the  lee  quarter  deck. 
He  gave  me  a  lecture  before  them  all  on  the 
enormity  of  resisting  an  officer,  and  the  equally 
heinous  crime  of  desertion.  He  concluded  his 
talk  by  saying  that  the  fact  that  I  had  always 
been  a  willing  and  faithful  man  before  induced 
him  to  pardon  my  transgressions.  Then  he 
unlocked  the  cuffs,  and  I  was  free. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

OUR  course  lay  a  little  north  of  west,  and 
took  us  through  the  very  heart  of  the 
South  Pacific.  Until  we  came  into  the  China 
sea  we  made  land  every  day  or  two.  We  did 
not  see  any  more  whales  during  the  passage, 
so  that  wonderful  run  of  luck  stopped  as  ab 
ruptly  as  it  had  descended  on  us.  All  hands, 
from  the  Old  Man  the  whole  way  down  the 
line,  were  in  the  blithest  spirits.  And  no  won 
der  !  We  had  only  hauled  out  from  New  Bed 
ford  dock  two  years  before,  and  here  we  were 
with  twenty-four  hundred  barrels  of  oil  in  the 
hold.  Ordinarily  a  ship  was  not  doing  so  ill 
if  she  gathered  twelve  or  fourteen  hundred  in 
three  years,  and  rightly  enough,  for  even  then 
the  enterprise  would  pay  about  cent  per  cent 
to  the  capital  invested.  Those  shrewd  old 
Yankees  did  not  pursue  their  arduous  calling 
entirely  on  account  of  the  romance  involved  in 
it.  The  pecuniary  side  appealed  to  them. 

Twenty- four  hundred  barrels!     Every  man 
on  board    had   his   mind   concentred   on   the 

276 


A  Whaling  Yarn  277 

mathematical  problem,  more  or  less  intricate 
to  those  unaccustomed  to  dealing  with  such 
high  matters.  This  is  the  way  it  was  figured 
out  aft.  Thirty-one  an  a  half  gallons  to  the 
barrel  made  our  cargo  amount  to  between  sev 
enty-five  and  seventy-six  thousand  gallons. 
Roughly  speaking  thirty  per  cent,  of  this  was 
head  oil,  or  contained  a  large  proportion  of 
spermaceti,  making  it  more  valuable.  When 
we  had  left  home,  body  oil  had  been  quoted  at 
$1.25  per  gallon  on  a  rising  market,  and  with 
no  probability  of  its  ever  going  below  that  fig 
ure  again.  Here  was  over  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  gross  without  even  counting  the 
added  value  of  that  head  oil. 

And  Uncle  Zene  on  the  fifteenth  lay!  Je- 
whillikens!  Didn't  he  have  a  right  to  feel 
good  ?  Even  the  most  humble  of  the  foremast 
hands  would  possibly  earn  three  or  four  hun 
dred  dollars  for  that  two  years'  work.  My 
own  lay  had  been  increased  to  the  eightieth 
the  day  I  was  nominated  Stoddard's  boat- 
steerer.  After  the  expenses  of  the  voyage 
were  paid  back  to  the  owners,  together  with 
the  interest  on  their  investment,  I  was  entitled 
to  a  clear  one-eightieth  of  all  there  was  left. 
Perhaps  eight  hundred  dollars !  And  then,  by 


278  There  She  Blows 

Jove!  There  was  the  ambergris  Uncle  Zene 
had  excavated!  It  might  come  to  an  entire 
thousand!  And  so  on.  Every  man  on  the 
ship,  I  have  no  doubt,  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
same  kind  of  arithmetic. 

It  did  not  prevent  the  routine  of  the  ship 
from  going  on.  It  rather  oiled  the  wheels, 
so  to  speak.  We  were  bound  into  a  civilised 
port,  at  last,  and  the  Avola  had  to  be  dressed 
in  her  best  suit  of  clothes.  The  officers  went 
at  their  task  with  their  usual  energy,  and  the 
staunch  old  bark  was  overhauled  from  stem  to 
stern  with  all  the  scrupulous  thoroughness  that 
pertains  to  New  England  housekeeping. 

Our  poor,  stained,  dinted  decks  were  holy 
stoned  from  morn  till  dewy  eve,  until  they  were 
smooth  as  satin,  and  white  as  snow.  The  in 
board  paint  was  scrubbed  with  strong  lye  until 
our  finger  nails  were  burnt  off,  and  the  paint 
had  disappeared.  Then  it  was  repainted,  a 
virgin  white,  and  thereafter  woe  to  the  unlucky 
devil  of  a  foremast  hand  whom  any  officer 
caught  accidentally  or  otherwise  defacing  or 
smutting  its  pure  surface. 

Then  came  the  spars.  No  paint  on  them 
for  ours !  That  slack  method  of  doing  things 
might  appeal  to  the  Lime-juicers,  but  a  Yankee 


A  Whaling  Yarn  279 

skipper  when  he  goes  into  port,  wants  his  poles, 
from  the  biggest  to  the  most  tiny,  to  be  scraped 
clean  as  a  willow  whistle,  and  shine  with  slush. 
So  the  boatswain's  chairs  were  overhauled,  and 
more  manufactured  for  the  exigencies  of  the 
occasion.  For  a  time  you  could  not  raise  your 
eyes  without  seeing  men  suspended  aloft  in 
all  sorts  of  adventurous  positions,  and  all 
scraping  for  their  lives.  After  the  scraping 
came  the  slush,  and  the  cook — one  of  whose 
perquisites  it  was — watched  the  diminishing 
contents  of  the  slush  barrel  with  a  thunder 
cloud  on  his  bent  brow. 

After  the  spars  more  or  less  resembled  a 
malacca  cane  in  polish,  the  old,  patched  cruis 
ing  sails  came  down  one  by  one,  and  were 
replaced  by  new  ones  that  looked  like  a  snow 
bank  in  the  air,  and  made  us  walk  proudly 
because  of  our  connection  with  this  new  Avola. 
Some  we  cut,  fitted,  and  sewed  ourselves,  for 
your  true  sailor  is  a  Jack  of  many  trades,  and 
unlike  the  landsman,  an  expert  at  all. 

As  nearly  as  I  can  remember  the  passage 
took  four  or  five  weeks,  and  I  grew  impatient 
of  its  length.  At  the  last  came  a  day  when 
the  wind  entirely  failed,  and  we  drifted  without 
steerage  way.  Apparently  this  happening  had 


280  There  She  Blows 

been  anticipated.  The  paint  locker  was  ran 
sacked,  and  the  officers  busily  mixed  oil,  white 
lead,  and  pigment  until  they  had  sufficient  in 
readiness  for  their  purpose.  Stages  were 
hung  over  the  rail,  and  a  dozen  brushes  were 
at  work  making  the  outer  garment  of  the  vessel 
as  spick  and  span  as  those  we  had  already 
operated  on.  Many  willing  hands  make  light 
work.  It  did  not  take  long,  and  before  the  day 
was  over,  the  Avola  was  such  a  fine  lady  it 
was  a  wonder  she  did  not  blush  at  her  reflection 
in  the  water. 

"Land  ho!" 

This  long-winded  wail  came  from  Jonas  at 
the  fore-royal  in  the  morning  watch  the  very 
next  day.  The  Old  Man  was  walking  the 
quarter,  and  Mr.  Stoddard  stood  at  the  waist 
in  charge  of  the  deck.  He  looked  up  with 
interest,  and  the  captain  stopped  to  say: 

"That  is  the  southermost  point  of  India,  sir. 
We're  to  the  northward  of  our  course,  but  we'll 
soon  raise  the  island  of  Singapore,  and  if  the 
breeze  holds  we'll  lie  at  anchor  in  front  of  the 
city  to-night." 

In  a  short  time  we  began  to  perceive  we 
were  in  the  vicinity  of  a  large  port.  Little 
steamers,  bigger  ones  that  plied  to  distant 


A  Whaling  Yarn  281 

places,  craft  of  every  description  under  sail, 
from  the  clumsy  Chinese  junk  to  the  trim  Bal 
timore-built  American  clipper,  and  the  hundred 
different  types  of  oriental  small  craft,  scooted 
by  us  with  immense  activity,  or  lay  quietly  at 
anchor. 

We  sailed  proudly  ahead,  conscious  of  our 
good  looks,  for  the  Old  Man  intended  to  berth 
well  in.  The  port  captain,  or  some  such  gold- 
braided  dignitary,  boarded  us,  and  the  ex 
change  of  ceremonious  greetings  on  the  deck 
concluded,  as  I  judge  marine  interviews  usually 
do,  with  the  clinking  of  glasses  in  the  after 
cabin. 

That  Singapore  official  remained  with  us 
until  we  let  go  the  mud  hook,  and  he  had  an 
opportunity  to  see  how  a  crew  that  had  worked 
together  two  years  handled  an  old-fashioned 
bark.  I  don't  know  much  about  the  navy, 
though  I  hear  they're  mostly  plumbers  and  gas 
fitters  that  do  the  work  of  the  ships,  but  they 
would  have  to  hustle  to  strip  the  canvas  off 
in  a  more  shipshape  way  than  we  did  under  the 
eyes  of  Uncle  Zene,  and  that  Singapore  swell. 

The  Old  Man  went  ashore  with  the  port 
captain.  He  said  he'd  be  back  in  an  hour  or 
so,  and  bring  any  mail  there  might  be  for  the 


282  There  She  Blows 

ship.  In  the  meanwhile  sampans  manned  by 
coolies  swarmed  about  the  Avola  laden  with  all 
sorts  of  things  for  sale.  The  keen  rascals  had 
scented  the  fact  that  we  were  likely  customers, 
and  tempted  us  with  offers  of  every  thing  they 
could  think  of  that  was  desirable  to  men  off  a 
long  voyage.  I  had  not  seen  the  smallest  coin 
of  real  money  for  two  years,  but  now  it  was 
surprising  to  see  the  quantity  produced  from 
the  tills  of  donkeys,  or  other  secret  places,  and 
in  a  jiffy  those  Chinamen  in  the  sampans  were 
doing  a  thriving  business  forward  and  aft. 
One  chap  had  a  boat  rigged  as  a  butcher  shop, 
and  I  sprung  myself  for  what  I  suppose  was 
buffalo  beef,  though  it  looked  somewhat  like  a 
sirloin,  and  I  was  hungry,  and  in  the  mood  to 
take  chances.  There  were  also  outfitting  boats 
with  a  selection  of  "store  clothes,"  but  I  decided 
to  hold  my  horses,  and  buy  what  I  needed  in 
that  line  ashore,  though  it  would  be  necessary 
to  descend  on  the  city  looking  like  a  pauper's 
scarecrow.  My  decision  was  probably  wise. 

Captain  Bourne  returned  at  the  time  he  had 
set.  He  had  a  bundle  of  mail  in  his  hand  as 
he  came  over  the  rail,  and  his  gear  was  pretty 
well  oiled.  As  his  eyes  met  mine  there  was  a 


A  Whaling  Yarn  283 

certain  significance  in  the  gaze  I  did  not  under 
stand  until  later,  but  it  prepared  me  for  some 
thing  unusual.  He  called  the  ship's  company 
into  the  waist,  and  distributed  the  letters.  The 
very  last  one  he  handed  to  me,  and  said  quietly : 

"When  you  have  read  that,  Ned,  come  to  the 
after  cabin.  I  want  to  see  you." 

I  knew  the  handwriting  at  a  glance.  The 
letter  was  from  my  Uncle  Frank,  and  for  a 
moment  I  feared  to  tear  it  open,  thinking  of 
all  the  possibilities  of  those  two  years  I  had 
been  out  of  the  world.  I  went  into  the  vacant 
steerage,  and  read  it.  My  father  had  fallen 
from  a  scaffold  six  months  before,  and  received 
injuries  which  made  it  impossible  for  him  ever 
to  work  again,  at  his  trade.  He  had  been  a 
moderately  prosperous  carpenter,  and  fortu 
nately  owned  his  home.  He  had  always  hith 
erto  been  able  to  look  after  himself  and  mother, 
and  I  had  not  contributed  to  the  household 
expenses  in  five  or  six  years,  or  since  I  came 
of  age.  Now  they  needed  me,  and  said  good 
old  Uncle  Frank: 

"Don't  let  your  heels  slip  in  getting  home, 
and  bring  what  money  you  have  along,  for  it's 
scarce  this  side  of  the  water." 


284  There  She  Blows 

He  had  written  through  Woodward  Broth 
ers,  on  the  off  chance  of  catching  me  at  Singa 
pore. 

My  mind  was  made  up  before  I  reached  the 
last  page.  I  would  ask  Captain  Bourne  to  dis 
charge  me  here,  and  advance  what  he  was  able 
on  my  lay.  That  amount,  and  it  ought  to  be 
a  fairish  lump,  could  go  by  mail.  I  would  ship 
as  able  seaman,  thank  the  Lord  I  could  qualify, 
on  any  vessel  I  found  going  to  a  port  near 
home.  That  would  land  me  there  with  cash 
in  my  pocket,  and  I  would  buckle  down  in 
earnest  to  look  after  the  old  folks.  I  proceeded 
to  the  after  cabin,  letter  in  hand. 

"I  know  all  about  it,  Ned,"  said  the  Old 
Man.  Your  uncle  told  the  whole  trouble  to 
Mr.  Woodward,  and  the  latter  has  written  me 
to  do  what  I  think  best  about  it.  I've  got  the 
matter  arranged  shipshape  in  my  head.  In  the 
first  place,  you  will  go  ashore  with  me  to-mor 
row,  and  I'll  give  you  a  draft  on  Woodward 
Brothers  for  one  thousand  dollars.  That  will 
be  on  account  of  your  lay.  If  it  happens  to 
turn  out  less,  you  and  I  can  fix  it  up.  You  can 
send  that  home  to  the  Dad.  Shut  up!  You 
wait  a  minute!  The  Queen,  Captain  Havi- 
land,  is  waiting  here  to  pick  up  a  crew  to  run 


A  Whaling  Yarn  285 

down  to  Padang,  on  Sumatra,  to  load  coffee  for 
New  York.  I  met  Captain  Haviland  at  my 
consignee's,  and  told  him  I  had  just  the  man 
he  wanted  to  sail  third  mate  with  him.  He 
needs  one." 

He  ceased  talking,  and  looked  inquiringly  at 
me  as  if  he  had  been  discussing  some  ordinary 
matter  in  an  ordinary  way.  I  was  gulping, 
and  trying  to  find  a  steady  voice  to  tell  him 
what  I  thought  about  his  way  of  doing  things. 
He  saw  my  emotion,  and  gently  shoved  me  to 
the  companion-way  steps: 

"Go  and  turn  in,  Ned,"  he  continued,  "you 
want  to  do  a  little  thinking  about  this  news. 
Stand  by  to  go  ashore  with  me  in  the  morning, 
and  we'll  see  the  consul,  and  get  your  dis 
charge.  Then  we'll  fix  the  other  matters  up." 

I  shook  his  hand  silently,  and  went  to  my 
bunk.  I  was  somewhat  stunned  by  the  sud 
denness  of  the  affair,  but  I  got  some  sleep  after 
all,  and  turned  out  the  next  morning  in  pretty 
good  shape. 

We  went  ashore  at  the  appointed  time,  and 
as  it  was  still  too  early  to  find  the  consul,  we 
called  at  the  shipping  office,  where  we  met  Cap 
tain  Haviland.  He  was  a  red-headed,  well- 
set-up  man,  with  a  deep  blue  eye  that  looked 


286  There  She  Blows 

as  though  there  might  be  trouble  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  There  was,  as  I  found  later — but  that's 
another  story.  He  wanted  me  all  right,  and  I 
agreed  to  sign  up  with  him. 

Then  we  went  to  the  Consul,  and  I  got  my 
discharge.  Here  it  is: 

I,  the  undersigned,  master  of  the  Whaling 
barque  "Avola"  of  New  Bedford  of  373  tons, 
register,  owned  by  Woodward  Brothers,  here 
with  certify  that  Edward  Hall  mariner  (green 
hand,  and  afterward  boatsteerer),  who  was 
duly  shipped  at  New  Bedford,  Mass.,  on  the 
2oth  day  of  November,  1870,  and  who  was  duly 
discharged  by  reason  of  mutual  consent,  by  and 
before  A.  G.  Spader,  U.  S.  Consul  at  Singa 
pore,  is  entitled  as  his  share  or  lay,  according 
to  Shipping  Articles  signed  by  him,  the  said 
Edward  Hall,  to  first  one  two  hundredth,  and 
later  to  one  eightieth  of  twenty  four  hundred 
(2400)  barrels  of  Sperm  Oil  caught  from  No 
vember  2Oth,  1870,  to  this  day,  less  the  sum 
of  eighteen  dollars  ($18.00)  for  fitting  and  dis 
charging  ship,  and  I  request  that  the  owners 
of  the  said  barque  "Avola,"  of  which  I  am 
Master,  pay  to  him,  the  said  Edward  Hall,  the 


A  Whaling  Yarn  287 

value  of  the  share  due  him  as  above  stated, 
less  the  eighteen  dollars  as  stated. 

ZENAS  E.  BOURNE,, 
Master  of  the  Whaling  barque  Avola. 
SINGAPORE,  INDIA,  October  5th,  1872. 

I  freely  and  fully  accept  the  settlement  of 
my  lay  and  share  as  above  stated  by  Zenas  E. 
Bourne,  Master.  EDWARD  HALL. 

The  above  acknowledgment  and  settlement 
was  signed,  and  settled  before  me,  the  under 
signed,  Consul  of  the  United  States  of  America 
at  Singapore,  and  the  dependencies  thereof  on 
the  fifth  day  of  October  1872. 

A.  G.  SPADER, 

U.  S.  Consul. 


THE   END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  822  456     o 


